Nippy Sweetie
by deeedeee
Summary: a.k.a NipS. Frequently NSFW. Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson, and a long journey. It started out as sass appreciation, pure and simple, and got a little complicated. CarsonxHughes, CarsonxCarson and HughesxHughes getting over the fears taught by society and getting their shit together. Set during and after s4, with various lines of dialogue from s5 and possibly s6 (we'll see).
1. Chapter 1

**a/n** I was just rewatching this and couldn't stop staring at Mrs Hughes and her magnificently sassy ways in this scene. This could turn into a series of drabbles.

* * *

"I wonder why Lady Rose was down here."

Mr Carson was sitting at his desk and as much as he usually tried to ignore Thomas's voice, he raised his head at this, drawing his brows together. _Lady Rose was downstairs? That's odd. _

"And I'm afraid you will continue to wonder."

Mr Carson suppressed a snort of laughter. She'd always been a bit of a nippy sweetie. _That's her word, _he thought. He had been baffled the first time he heard it; she had been describing her sister and admitted to having the same traits. He'd come to understand the term and he thought it entirely fitting. He had always been impressed by her ability to handle Thomas - _Mr Barrow_, he thought with a roll of the eyes.

"That's very mysterious, Mrs Hughes." _That smarmy little bastard._

"You know me, Mr Barrow. A woman of mystery if ever there was one."

He'd always enjoyed overhearing her in the hallways, and just now it was especially delicious to hear her warding off _Mr Barrow's_ questions. The way her tongue caressed her r's caused a stirring in his … _ahem_. He mentally cleared his throat and realized how ridiculous it was to do such a thing. He tried to concentrate on whatever blasted ledger he was working on, tried to ignore the conversation that was by turns enticing and supremely off-putting.

"But her secret won't affect us."

He rolled his eyes at the boy's pathetic attempt to extract a secret from the housekeeper. _He doesn't stand a chance_.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Now you have got me worried."

"I am sorry to hear that, Mr Barrow," she said airily. "But now you must let me get on."

Mr Carson chose that moment to step outside his pantry, intercepting Mrs Hughes. He raised his eyebrows helplessly, his mouth dropping open slightly at the sway of her hips, and her small triumphant smile. She looked up at him and stopped short, her smile giving way to a look of shock, confusion.

He'd never looked at her like that before.


	2. Chapter 2

She tried to appear as if she'd recovered quickly. The look in his eyes was gone instantly; she was not even sure she'd really seen it.

"Are you alright, Mr Carson?"

He squared his shoulders and intoned something pompous about Thomas. She wasn't really listening, as she was already thinking about where to put Lady Rose's band.

"...tell _me_ why Lady Rose was downstairs?" He'd stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. His voice was melted butter, but it would do her no good to dwell on _that._ Not today, when she'd already indulged in a little more staring than usual during breakfast. It wasn't often she envied cups of tea, but this morning was one of those times.

"That would be telling." _Sometimes it is just too easy,_ she thought.

She strode past him to the doorway of her sitting room, and looked back to see him. He was standing in his doorway, dumbfounded. She could count on one hand the times she'd seen him like this.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, very well. I'll tell you all about it this evening. Now if you'll excuse me, I must get on."


	3. Chapter 3

She'd finished telling him about the plans for Lady Rose's surprise. He let out a sigh. _These young ones and their crazy ideas._

"It creates an awful lot of extra work for you, doesn't it, Mrs Hughes?"

"Is that _you_, suggesting a member of the family might be a touch too demanding?"

He was taken aback by this and looked up quickly, almost choking on his sherry. She had that look again — the serious expression that never quite reached her eyes. Her smiling, shining, deep blue eyes. At night he could think they were brown. When she looked at him like this he would like to —

He shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Certainly not. I just think it rather improper for a _jazz band_ to play here at Downton." He put all the indignation he could muster into the phrase.

"Well, I suppose that's true, but it _is_ for his Lordship's birthday. And Lady Rose has apparently been put in charge of 'fun,' so who are we to argue?"

He responded with a noncommittal "hmmm," and finished the last sip of his sherry.

She raised her eyebrows, silently offering him _another wee drop,_ as she sometimes put it. Usually he would accept, but tonight he held his hand over his glass.

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes, er, I think — I'll say good night."

"Good night, Mr Carson." She bit her bottom lip slightly and frowned just a touch. He beat a hasty retreat, trying not to notice her expression. _Especially not her lip._

He rushed upstairs and tried to clear his head with the cold water that he splashed over his face when he got there.

_What the hell is happening to me?_


	4. Chapter 4

Alone in her sitting room, she watched his back as he all but fled for the stairs.

She sipped her sherry.

_What's got into him?_

She sighed. She had no way of finding out at the moment, and plenty of work in the morning, so she went straight upstairs to her narrow bed after draining the tiny glass.

And what of it, if the thought of his voice made her hands slide down her body? What did it matter, as long as she stopped before her fingers got to that hidden place?

* * *

The envelope had come in the morning post. It was just a bill, so his thoughts were elsewhere as he searched in vain for the letter opener and decided to rip the damn thing open. It was a rare physical display of frustration.

She stopped in front of his door as he inhaled with a hiss. He cursed at the offending envelope, then looked up at her, mortified, sucking his finger.

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that, Mrs Hughes," he said quickly, again putting his finger in his mouth as he stood.

She knocked absently on the door as she stepped into his pantry with a look of concern. _Far be it from her to want to suck a man's blood, but she wouldn't mind tasting his fingers -_

She was horrified at her own thoughts in the light of day and closed her mouth; she hadn't realized her jaw had dropped at the sight of him.


	5. Chapter 5

When she looked at him like that, he was reminded of the torment he'd endured at tea and dinner the day before.

* * *

"Ooh, I like that Rudolph Valentino." Mrs Patmore had obviously enjoyed her moment of rapport with the younger staff.

He'd seen Mrs Hughes's response to the name and surprised himself with jealousy. _What the -_

"He makes me shiver all over."

He had actually shuddered. _It's like chalk and cheese. Like thinking of your granny when you're in the middle of -_

"What a very disturbing thought." Mrs Patmore was like a sister to him and honestly, he didn't begrudge her a little Hollywood thrill. He had merely been irritated with himself for envying the distant celebrity who made _her_ go all dreamy-eyed.

She had looked at him with her mouth open, about to say something, and he'd immediately been sorry. The things that slipped out of his mouth sometimes surprised him. The rest of the evening had gone relatively well, even though he'd nearly fallen apart at dinner. With one eyebrow she could bring him to his knees.

He'd managed to speak calmly as he justified his refusal to hire Molesley. His resolve had weakened every time he looked at her. Then she'd raised her eyebrow at Mrs Patmore. He didn't know exactly what they said with those looks, but he thought he had a good idea.

_Old fool._ _No right to those airs and graces._

* * *

Now he lowered his hand to his desk, trying to regain his composure and stop the bleeding. She stood motionless in the doorway, the back of one hand resting forgotten against the door.

"Oh Mr Carson, what have you done to yourself? Wait right there." She pursed her lips and swept out of the room.

In an instant she came back with a cloth soaked in cold water for his cut. Briskly, she made him sit and wrapped his finger. His skin burned where she touched him.

She tried to ignore the way his breathing had changed as she held the cloth against his warm skin.


	6. Chapter 6

_She tried to ignore the change in his breathing as she held the cloth to his warm skin._

* * *

When she touched him, he forgot to breathe. She had his hand in one of hers and pressed the cold, wet cloth against his finger.

She was sure the bleeding had stopped and she unwrapped the cloth to confirm it. The edge of it had left a line across the back of his hand, which she gently traced with one fingertip.

He inhaled suddenly and she dropped his hand, all but jerking away from him.

"Well! I'd say you're right as rain again, Mr Carson," she said brightly.

Mrs Hughes was a meticulous person as a rule, but she had never folded anything more precisely than the cloth she held in her hands now.

She stared at it.

He stared at her.

"Was - was there something you wanted, Mrs Hughes?"

"No," a little frown, pursed lips. "No, Mr Carson, I'll be on my way."

And she was gone. The sound of keys and brisk footsteps faded down the hallway.

He sank into his chair and took up the envelope. Holding it diagonally between two fingertips, he spun it absently.

His hand still burned where she'd touched it.

_This is neither the time nor the place,_ he thought, but there was nothing else for it. So he stood, painfully, and went to close and lock the doors of his pantry.

He stopped after locking the second door and shook his head at himself in disgust. He opened the doors again. What did it matter if this odd behavior got a strange look from the hall boy?

At least this way he wouldn't be defiling _her_ in his mind, and _himself_ with his hand. He sat at his desk to wait it out.


	7. Chapter 7

"And you have your pride, and I respect you for it. Good day, Mr Molesley."

Mr Molesley left. He didn't like to be cruel to the man, but he found him damned irritating. As if that weren't enough, he'd arrived just as Mr Carson had returned to his desk to calm down.

* * *

She hid her growing smile in her cup of tea. Mr Carson had just given in and hired Mr Molesley, thanks to the plot she'd hatched with Mrs Patmore.

Her smile was not lost on him. Even in his irritation (_especially in his irritation_) he wished he could reach for her. He imagined grabbing her wrist and spinning her into him. Pushing her against the closed, _locked_ door of her sitting room. Making her back arch as he pressed her against him, and finally, _finally_ tasting that pretty mouth.

He stayed seated at the table for longer than usual that afternoon.

* * *

"Did you ask me to come down?"

"I did. We've made some sandwiches for you and the others, as I doubt you'll be off duty before midnight. We'll set a little table inside the green baize door."

Her kindness made him glad for his restraint earlier. He doubted he could look her in the eye now if he'd done _that_ while thinking of her.

"They sound good from down here."

Lady Rose's jazz band was playing. He was relieved to know that his Lordship and the rest of the party were enjoying their evening. He was also grateful for Mrs Patmore's presence. She was quite effective at keeping his thoughts where they ought to be. He managed to form a vaguely disapproving sentence instead of staring at Mrs Hughes, who was looking unusually rosy.

"If you like that sort of thing."

"I thought Mr Ross was very nice." Mrs Hughes changed the subject. _Bless her_. If he could just see that smile every day, he'd be happy. No need to indulge in all of this.. _other_ nonsense.

"So did I, strange to relate. Though, it's still an odd sort of thing to be happening at Downton."

"Makes you want to jig about, doesn't it?"

_Yes_, he thought_. Think of Mrs Patmore jigging about_. Anything to keep his thoughts away from _her._ But he needed to reply, and quickly.

"Certainly not!"

_Ridiculous man_. She watched him go upstairs. Her hands were still clasped as she often held them. Tonight it had the added benefit of preventing her from absentmindedly reaching to touch him. His hair, his hand, anything.

The party went on and on. There would be no time for sherry in his pantry tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

"Say there's flu in the house and he mustn't miss out on his course."

"You're quite a plotter when you want to be, aren't you?" His tone of voice was so affectionate that in all honesty she wanted to take his hand and kiss his palm, then wrap her arms around him. Let herself hold him and be held.

"It's a skill all women must learn!"

She turned away with a little smile all her own.

* * *

He wasn't sure what was wrong at supper. He hoped he hadn't offended her in some way, but it seemed her anger - uncharacteristically cold - was aimed elsewhere.

He kept glancing at her, but she didn't take her eyes off Mr Gillingham. She was _watching_ the man. He'd never seen her like this before, and it was unsettling.

Surely this wasn't simply due to the man's having insulted Scotland. _A bellyful of heather, indeed,_ he thought. As if it wouldn't be a treat to visit her homeland. Preferably with her on his arm.

He frowned at himself. This was getting out of hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N There were two updates today, so please check Chapter 8 if you haven't seen it yet. Thank you, everyone, for the reblogs and likes and faves and follows and reviews! they make my day! MWAH**

* * *

She was lovely.

He was glad for the bazaar, despite the additional work it really did create for them.

He watched as she handled delicate trays of pastries, smiling and chatting with the village people. She stood out in her black dress. He had so infrequently seen her in anything other than the dark clothing they all wore to serve. He would like to see her in something light, airy, something that caressed her figure instead of constraining it.

Suddenly he couldn't take his eyes off the curve of her waist. Then his gaze drifted up her body to her beautiful face.

She was looking straight at him.

"Startled" was an understatement. He could _hear _his heart pounding. Casting about for anything else to look at, his eyes landed on James. The footman looked rather too comfortable.

* * *

She'd noticed Mr Carson looking at her - how could she not? She was always aware of him. His voice. His hands, carefully holding fragile glass and strong silver.

But he was _staring_ at her. At her body. His eyes were on her hip, her bosom. She stared back, unable to move until he looked up at her eyes. He looked away immediately.

The sudden image of his hands on _her _sent a rush of excitement through her. Mrs Hughes - steady of hands, patient and sure in nearly all things - nearly dropped the tray she was holding.


	10. Chapter 10

They discussed the usual matters over sherry in his pantry that night. The bazaar, his Lordship's arrival. They had been relieved to know the surprise was intentional.

The only sign of her nerves was the repetitive movement as she lifted the material of her skirt into tiny peaks before smoothing it down again.

He told himself to stop watching as the motion of the fabric accentuated the contour of her thigh. She tried to get them out of this strange, unbalanced place with a mild disagreement, musing about the two young gentlemen courting Lady Mary. But he was not reacting.

She took a sip and looked up at him. He was staring at her hand. She froze.

He met her gaze and she caught her bottom lip gently between her teeth.

"You're going to hurt yourself biting your lip like that." His voice, softer than she'd ever heard it.

Several things happened at once then. Her eyes widened and her rapid inhalation caused her to choke on her sherry. He realized with horror that he had spoken out loud and he began to fill the room with ordinary words, something about Lady Mary, anything.

She coughed violently and he moved swiftly to help her, but she stood and waved him away.

Although not usually given to hyperbole, he truly wished just then for the ground to open up and swallow him. As her breathing slowly returned to normal, he managed a strangled, "I beg your pardon."

She tried to sound calm as she excused herself. "Well. I think that's enough excitement for one evening," she said at last. "I'll say good night."

"Good night, Mrs Hughes."


	11. Chapter 11

a/n thanks for the love, everyone! xoxo

* * *

Her sherry stood on the table, mostly full. He stared at it, wondering what the _hell _he was supposed to do now.

With the sherry.

With _this._ This business of getting hot under the collar whenever he saw or heard her - and his mind filled in the rest, _smell touch taste _\- he would like to do all of these, and he felt fairly certain he was going mad. He wondered wildly whether she might not welcome his advances.

He sat thinking in his pantry for a long time that night, finishing her sherry as well as his. He initially tried to avoid the idea of her lips on the glass from which he drank, but gave up eventually. Still, he would not indulge in _that_; he had too much respect for her.

In the attic, he stood and looked at the dividing door for a long moment. He had never seen the other side of that door, though she'd been in his room before. He knew the door was locked, and he wondered whether the key was attached to her chatelaine. He wondered what he would do if she decided right now to unlock that door and come to him.

Shaking his head at his outlandish fantasies, he entered his room.


	12. Chapter 12

She leaned back against the door of her darkened room and bit her lip, her eyes closed. Her mood shifted from anxiety to giddiness, to irritation, then back to worry. She released her lip and brought her fingertips up to touch it. Her other arm wrapped itself around her waist, holding on to the fabric of her dress.

Her heart was pounding and she felt the insane urge to walk down the corridor in her purposeful way, unlock that dividing door and go to him. Once and for all. Find out what in God's name was going on here.

_And find out what he was like underneath that waistcoat, the starched white front. Run her fingers over his skin, draw his face down to hers -_

Arousal shot through her body and she gasped, her eyes snapping open. Where on earth had _that_ thought come from?

She frowned, shook her head, and went about getting ready for bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Next morning, they kept a careful distance at the breakfast table. Neither of them was normally very talkative in the morning anyway, so each was able to conceal the acute discomfort that arose from wanting to leap across the table in front of God and everyone, but being unable to do so without devastating consequences of every kind.

When the bells began to ring, he rose. Everyone rose in response.

"Mrs Hughes, might I have a word?"

"Of course." She followed him into his pantry. He closed the door and she momentarily forgot to breathe. She struggled to keep calm and to keep her hands by her sides.

His expression was unreadable as he looked into her eyes. He held her gaze intensely for a moment, but quickly looked down at the ledger on his desk.

He cursed himself for closing the door. It was not necessary, given that all he planned to discuss with her was the timing of the family's departure for London. Now she was too close and the sun was shining on her hair. In the bright room he could see the exact color of her eyes.

He realized he was staring and he stumbled over his words as he tried to focus their attention on the household task at hand.


	14. Chapter 14

"Mr Carson, are you alright?"

"Er, of course. I just wanted to make sure we have arrangements settled for the large luggage."

She was utterly confused, but quickly shifted into problem-solving mode as she had a look at the page he indicated.

She was standing too close to him, and she could feel it. She could hear his breathing hitch as her elbow brushed his. Through all their layers of clothing, it would make no sense that she should feel heat transferring from his body to hers, but nothing between them seemed to make much sense lately.

They managed to get through the luggage arrangements. She tried to force her movements to stay fluid and composed as she all but fled to the other side of his desk.

Her color was high.

"Mrs Hughes, are you alright? Are you ill?" _I have to get out of here. I have to get __her__ out of here._

"Not at all; I'm quite alright, Mr Carson." She bit her lip again. He wasn't sure why, but it looked plumper, rosier than usual. He forced himself to look away.

"Only you looked a little -" He stopped himself. _Feverish_.


	15. Chapter 15

"Only you looked a little -" He stopped himself. _Feverish_.

"A little what?" Her expression was strange. It was the result of a great struggle between the arousal that might have been obvious to anyone but Mr Carson, and Mrs Hughes's signature expression of raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and pursed lips.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Mr Carson, are _you_ alright?"

"I beg your pardon?" His tone was light but he seemed extremely distracted. "Yes, of course." He squared his shoulders and gave his own tormented version of the odd, mixed expression she was wearing.

When she looked him in the eye, his gaze fled down to the papers on his desk and he cast about for a pen, something to hold instead of standing there with his hands at his sides, or (heaven forbid) rushing to her, holding her in his arms, covering her with kisses.

She knew she did not _look_ alright, but there was nothing for it except to leave. _Unless_…

She shook her head. Then she thought crazily that she had been doing quite a bit of that gesture lately.

She cleared her throat. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

"Well, if there isn't anything else, I must get on."

"Er - yes. Thank you, Mrs Hughes."

She left, closing the door behind her. He sank into his chair, grateful now for the closed door. With his elbows on the desk, he rested his head heavily in his hands.


	16. Chapter 16

**a/n Lots of updates today... I think I started at 10 or 11. Thanks for the reviews and the tumblr love! Xoxo**

* * *

The car drove away.

_Four months_.

Four _bloody_ months it would be before she saw him again.

The storm of sensation had dissipated for the moment, leaving emotional confusion in its wake.

She had seen the heat in his eyes, the shake as he stilled his hand instead of reaching for her. But clues about his feelings toward her were ambiguous at best. There was the song, but there was also the admonition about sentimentality. A kind look, a caring word could be followed the next day by a callous pronouncement and an impassive stare.

_Impossible man._

There. She felt almost back to normal, until she walked back into the house, into his pantry, closed the door, and sat in his chair. It smelled like him.

* * *

That night, she dreamed of him. She woke in the middle of the night, realizing with horror that her fingers were _right there_ and it was _wet. Slick_. Mortified, she got up to wash her hands and went back to bed, hoping to find sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

He glared out the window. Miss Baxter sat next to him, the chauffeur on her other side. She seemed content to ride in silence, and he was grateful.

Four _bloody_ months.

He was relieved, for one thing. Maybe this would let him sort his head.

He wanted her. That had become abundantly clear, and not only to him. He wanted to hope that she hadn't noticed his faltering, his stares. But she wasn't blind, he wasn't stupid, and he had never been a good liar. Not even to himself.

Something else was there, though, just below the surface.

He cleared his throat, fidgeted a bit.

"Are you alright, Mr Carson?"

_Sweet girl._

He gave himself a mental shake.

_Getting sentimental._

"Yes, Miss Baxter, quite alright. Thank you."

They fell silent again and rode on.

His mind lingered at Downton. It was both comforting and terrible to imagine _her_ at his desk. Her thighs, resting on the upholstery of his chair, her ankles crossed prettily. Would she lean against the back of the chair or perch on its edge? Could she even reach the back or would her legs jut forward like a child's? He stifled a hysterical bark of laughter at the bizarre thought.

He knew she spent time there when he was away for the Season; she had to, in order to keep the house running. It was completely normal.

He wondered madly if any of his pens left ink stains on her fingers.


	18. Chapter 18

She never knew why she didn't give the book back to Edna. But here she was, staring at it in the middle of the day.

_Married Love, or Love in Marriage_.

She had laid it on her desk. _No, that won't do_. She hid it away in a drawer, hands trembling.

A cup of tea, that's what she needed. It was almost time for the servants' tea anyway.

* * *

She got the book out after everyone had gone up.

_"Yet woman has at the surface a small vestigial organ called the clitoris, which corresponds morphologically to the man's penis, and which, like it, is extremely sensitive to touch-sensations. This little crest, which lies anteriorly between the inner lips round the va -"_

She slammed the book shut, stuffed it in the drawer and slammed the drawer for good measure. Then she stood up, looked around for another volume. There it was. She sat and opened it to the passage about this sort of thing. Genesis 38.

_"And Judah said unto Onan, Go in unto thy brother's wife, and marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother. And Onan knew that the seed should not be his; and it came to pass, when he went in unto his brother's wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother. And the thing which he did displeased the LORD: wherefore he slew him also."_

Well, _that_ made no sense. She didn't have "seed" to spill, so what in God's name could be wrong with it? She flipped through and landed on another passage.

_"Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the flesh hath ceased from sin; That he no longer should live the rest of his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God."_

_Well, that was uplifting_. She sighed, annoyed.

She slowly closed the book, watching the onion-skin pages float to rest together. Then she turned off the lights and made her way upstairs, her keys jingling softly.


	19. Chapter 19

The next night she opened the book again to the same passage.

_"...and by the stimulation of movement it is intensely roused and transmits this stimulus to every nerve in her body."_

She was a little uncomfortable reading something so frank. Her eyes jumped down the paragraph.

_"...it may take from ten to twenty minutes..."_

_"...consummate her feeling..."_

_"...mutual simultaneous orgasm."_

...Whatever _that_ was. She'd never actually heard much talk of _any_ of this before. It wasn't spoken of.

When she'd confiscated the book, it had been to solve a problem for Mr Branson. She'd had neither the time nor the inclination to read it. But now with most everyone away for the Season, she had a great deal more time to herself.

"Orgasm." She said it out loud in her sitting room. The word itself sounded violent, but the book said it was enjoyable.

She closed the book and sat thinking. Of course she knew that _...doing that... _with a man was said to be pleasurable. If it weren't, Ethel and a thousand others would never have made that mistake.

But she had never actually experienced it. She and Joe had never gone beyond a kiss, and while he was a nice man, nothing about their relationship had caused anything like what she had found _there_ when she woke up the other night.


	20. Chapter 20

Twenty-one-year scotch in a _sherry_ glass.

Normally this would horrify him, but these were desperate times.

He broke off a piece of dark chocolate and let it melt in his mouth, then took a sip. The smooth liquor blended with the rich sweet to create a flavor like toasted hazelnuts. _The whole truly is greater than the sum of its parts_, he thought. Irritated, he wondered why such an inane thought should occur to him just now.

His fingers played against the delicate stem of the glass. His eyes fell on the ledgers, all filled in neatly in his own hand. Organized. Impeccable. Controlled.

Unbidden, again, thoughts of her rushed to his mind. Her mouth on the glass. Her fingers running over his hand. Her bitten lip.

_Bloody hell._

He'd been busy. It had been easy to let those thoughts sink far beneath the thousand and one things to do, guests to greet, food and drink to serve.

In his first quiet moment alone since their arrival, he could suddenly feel his heart start pounding. His hand rested for an instant on his growing erection, but he quickly moved it away, clenched his knee instead.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowed the rest of the scotch and poured another glass. He downed that one too.

He thought desperately of Mrs Patmore "jigging about" and it helped a bit. Not much.

He drank a third glass and slammed his fist into the desk, stood up and stormed out of the room. Knowing no one would hear it down here, he slammed the door and the sound reverberated through the corridor.

If anyone wondered about the cold bath, he could always blame the weather.


	21. Chapter 21

Tentatively, she pushed against herself over her knickers.

Lying on her front, she held her hand - the first knuckle of her thumb, against herself. She pushed against herself.

She didn't know what would happen but she kept at it. It felt good.

It felt good and it kept feeling good. She kept at it.

She tried not to think of anything specifically. From what she'd read, it sounded like the problem with this sort of thing was the impure thoughts that went with it, not the act itself. She had no seed to spill; she wasn't hurting anyone.

She kept at it. It felt good.

It kept feeling good, and it kept feeling better. And better. She tried not to think of him.

She _tried._

She thought of him. His hands on sherry glasses. His voice caressing every syllable.

She kept at it. On her front, one side of her face in her pillow, she felt good.

It kept feeling better.

She kept at it.

Until

Until

Somehow

It felt amazing.

And she kept at it, breathing hard shallow deep shallow again

And shuddered against herself

And kept at it and shuddered and it was an explosion, a revelation. Bliss ecstasy everything confusing and then it was over and she breathed deeply. Alone and strong. Powerful. Elated.

_I suppose that's what they meant when they said "orgasm."_

* * *

She slept better than she could remember ever having slept.

She woke up guilty. She promised herself that she wouldn't do it three times before the cock crowed.


	22. Chapter 22

**a/n today's updates started with 21, so check it out if you haven't yet. thanks for the reviews and the tumblr love! xoxo**

* * *

She paged through, trying to justify or condemn her actions. Taking a sip of sherry, she read by the light on his desk:

"_Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband. The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife. … For I would that all men were even as I myself. But every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that."_

So. Paul thought everyone should be an ascetic like himself. _How he imagined the human race should survive..._

To be honest, that part of it sounded daft. The power over one's body, well. That was all about husbands and wives, and it was not helpful.

* * *

In her sitting room, she read on in the _other_ book.

"_It has happened many times in human history that individuals have ... set up celibacy as a higher ideal."_

She rolled her eyes.

"_So long as we are human we must have bodies, and bodies obey chemical and physiological, as well as spiritual laws."_

For reasons she couldn't explain, this sentence sent a rush of adrenaline through her. _Laws_. Unbreakable, intractable. Yes, that sounded about right..

"_By the ignorant or self-indulgent breaking of fundamental laws, the deepest harmonies are dislocated. The small-minded ascetic endeavors to grow spiritually by destroying his physical instincts instead of by using them."_

It would be as simple as dogma against science if that bit about self-indulgence weren't so troubling.


	23. Chapter 23

Three _bloody_ months left.

He examined the bulletin board, making sure everything was current. Absentmindedly he abused the felt board with a thumb tack as he read. He pushed it in and pulled it out. Scraping. Raising a tattered ridge as he dragged the sharp point against the rough surface.

When he suddenly realized what he was doing - _damaging his Lordship's property for no reason_ \- he pushed the pin in and left it there. He clasped his hands behind his back.

Satisfied with the posted material, he turned away. He hummed to himself, thinking of the wines for tonight's dinner.

Thinking of wine shared with her in his pantry at night. Her smiling eyes. Her pretty lips.

_God damn it_.

It was the middle of the day and he had a thousand things to do, and he thanked the whole blasted pantheon for this because it meant he was able to distract himself from the forbidden images that threatened to flood his mind during every waking moment.

* * *

In his sleep he was at the mercy of his unconscious mind.

He woke up drenched in sweat, his hand around his erection. Horrified.

Every _bloody_ morning.


	24. Chapter 24

She made her rounds, keys jingling, stern expression hiding her thoughts.

She wondered if she were doing it wrong. Surely something was supposed to go inside? She must have blushed at this because she caught a housemaid looking at her a little too long as she passed her. The girl had worry in her eyes but quickly went on with her work.

Mrs Hughes wondered what the punishment for this kind of sin was.

She imagined it might be eternal stimulation with no chance of the release at the end. She covered her crazed giggle with a cough.

After servants' tea she was in her sitting room, looking about for something with the right shape.

She shook her head.

_Thoughts like this in the middle of the day._


	25. Chapter 25

**a/n: NSFW!**

**Hughes x Hughes love.**

* * *

She sipped her sherry in his pantry.

Her eyes landed on the sherry stopper.

It felt hot against her palm when she returned from washing it. Hard and rounded and hot.

_His hands have touched this. The glass - so smooth, his nimble fingers playing against it -_

She locked both doors. Slid off her knickers.

_This is too much this is going too far I can't do this in here I can't do this to him. He'll know._

So she turned off the lights.

She sat in his chair and put one foot on his desk.

She kept her fingers away but pushed the stopper in and out, slowly. It hurt a little at first, but not for long. The thought of _him_ pressing just there brought her _almost_ to the edge several times.

It wasn't enough.

Remembering a passage from that book, she tentatively brought her other hand down. It had been clutching the wooden armrest and now she rested it over her labia.

Her whole body jerked.

She moved her hand over herself, stroking here and there. The stopper was now sliding in and out with ease and it felt awfully good and she didn't want it to stop.

She imagined it was his hands instead of her own and instantly felt a mad increase of pleasure. A strange sense of inevitability rushed through her in the final moments before her climax. Then she was arching against herself, breathing too hard, too fast and then it was over and she sank back in his chair, catching her breath as much as her corset allowed.

The moment of bliss soon gave way to worry.

_What have I done?_


	26. Chapter 26

Back from washing the stopper again, she gasped.

She could _smell_ it in here. Heavy, sexual, intoxicating.

Incriminating. She rushed to open the window, then lit the candle on his desk, shaking her head and blowing it out again after just a few seconds.

She locked the door and hurried upstairs.

Halfway up she turned, releasing her breath in an annoyed huff. She was too flustered even to roll her eyes at herself as she rushed back downstairs to replace the stopper.

Finally in her bed, she waited for her heart to return to its normal rate. It felt for all the world like she was sneaking around. As if she would be caught in the corridors late at night.

She scoffed mentally. _Oh, Els. Who's going to catch you? _

In the darkness, she bit back a grin at the thought. She was in charge here. Alone. Oh, Mr Branson and Lady Edith were here as well, but that didn't count. Not really.

_He's_ _not here._

And for the moment, she was glad of it.

* * *

She didn't have time to get to his pantry until after breakfast. When she opened the door, she was relieved to find that _that_ scent was gone.

_Only two months left_, she noted as she looked at the calendar.

She looked up with a start. It had become their custom to talk on the telephone each year, halfway through the Season.

_God help me._


	27. Chapter 27

He woke up as usual.

Heart pounding, sweating, holding his erection. Full of need and guilt, ready to douse himself with cold water.

_Only two bloody more months_.

His eyes snapped open.

_We're halfway through. _

Today they would have their customary telephone call.

_Fuck._

He'd said the word out loud a handful of times. Many years ago. He'd long since lost count of the times he'd _thought_ it during the past two months.

Still lying in bed, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He could give in, or he could struggle through a conversation while shaking with desire, stuttering, sweating, and all the rest. To top it all off, the _bloody_ telephone was in Mrs Bute's sitting room.

He gave in.

Two minutes later, he was cleaning it off himself, wondering why he didn't feel as guilty as he thought he should.

He knew about Onan and the spilled seed, and the punishment for it. He knew the only place for these thoughts and needs was within marriage.

_We're practically married_.

He froze.

They'd known each other for decades. They cared for each other. He was beginning to realize that this wanting, this _lust_ (he scowled as he thought the word) was all part of one thing.

He loved her.

And in less than four hours, he would have to try for a normal conversation with her.

_Fuck._


	28. Chapter 28

**a/n thank you so much to kouw for the beta-help with this one.**

**NSFW.**

* * *

She was sitting at his desk waiting for the operator to connect her. In broad daylight, with the door open to remind herself of the existence of the outside world.

Her heart was pounding and she tried to breathe slowly to calm herself, but it only reminded her of her deep and frantic breathing the night before. _In this very chair_.

"Grantham House, this is Carson the butler speaking." She gasped as that voice inserted itself into her memories.

"Hello, Mr Carson. This is Mrs Hughes." She tried to sound normal, whatever _that_ was at this stage. Their customary mid-Season telephone call had always been a source of gladness, something to look forward to. Now it felt terribly stilted.

"Yes, hello, Mrs Hughes! How nice to hear from you. So, here we are, halfway through the Season." _I sound like a madman_.

He was sitting just inside Mrs Bute's sitting room. He'd had no choice but to leave the door open, and he was grateful.

"Yes, here we are. Halfway through! Can you imagine?" She knew her voice sounded too bright.

This pause was going on too long. He could just see her smiling patiently on the other end, waiting for him to respond. He began to sweat, his hand cold against the receiver. His other hand fidgeted with the cord, pressing and releasing it.

She could hear his breathing, and it made her own breath hitch. Her eyes landed briefly on the candle he used for decanting wine.

"Mr Carson, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, Mrs Hughes. And how are things at Downton?"

She paused, and he imagined her biting her lip.

She _was_ biting her lip. "Things here are very well. Much the same as usual, I'm afraid. There isn't much to report."

Another pause. _Oh, for God's sake_. She gave herself a mental shake and continued.

"And how are things at Grantham House?" Her voice was high-pitched.

He cleared his throat, trying not to imagine her tongue as it rolled her r's. He closed his eyes briefly, then snapped them open as a kitchen maid hurried past him.

"Also very well, I'm afraid. That is - I mean - very well, I'm glad to say. It's not like Downton, I'm afraid." _Oh, how fine. Butler of Downton Abbey and you can't even get a sentence_ _out._

"Oh? And how is that?" _Stop it, Els. You're playing with fire._

His thoughts ran mercilessly on as he heard the smile in her voice. _It's different because you're not here. I miss you. I want you. I __want_ _you. In a bed or against a wall. Any way you'll have me._

His teeth on edge, he forced himself to respond. Any banality would do. "Well, er. It's - quite a bit smaller than Downton, and of course there are all the activities of the Season."

"Yes. Well, I hope Downton won't be too much of a disappointment after such excitement." She tried to make a joke and could feel it fall flat. She sighed.

He heard her sigh and rushed to - what? comfort her? shut out the sounds of her breathing?

"Well, Downton has its own charms, Mrs Hughes. And it is always nice to come back home to a normal routine."

She could hear the conversation coming to an end in the tone of his voice and she was a bit glad of it. She was helplessly imagining his breath _actually_ in her ear, his body between her thighs, the way he might slowly move inside her.

She struggled to regain a brisk tone of voice as the proper words tumbled out in a heap.

"Hmm. Well, I suppose I'd better let you get on, Mr Carson. I know you've plenty to do. I would give you greetings from Downton but there's no one here to send them! So my own will have to do. Do telephone if you have any requests for when Daisy comes."

"Oh - yes, of course." He was simultaneously disappointed and relieved to end the call.

"Goodbye, Mr Carson."

"Goodbye, Mrs Hughes."

He hung up and trudged to his pantry, locking the door behind him and leaning against it. He didn't quite have the same _physical_ problem as he'd had before, but he needed time to collect himself anyway. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sank into his chair, his head in his hands.

God, he felt terribly obscene, disreputable, dishonorable. He felt utterly exposed and he didn't know what to do.

He loved her. He respected her. And he wanted - he was horrified - he wanted desperately to - to - to _fuck_ her. To bury himself in her, make her his entirely, spill his seed _inside her_.


	29. Chapter 29

**a/n: just a little tease..**

**If you haven't read their phone conversation yet, go back to chapter 28! And if you don't know they're going to talk on the phone go back to 26. And if you don't know about the stopper, go back to 24. And if you have no idea what the hell is going on, follow this crazy little popcorn trail from Chapter 1. It won't take long. (This is an awful lot of fun to write, and I appreciate all your reblogs, likes, favorites, follows, and especially reviews!)**

**This is getting more and more risqué. Thank you, everyone who is along for this ride. Your reviews make my day! Please keep them coming! (I cannot escape the puns anymore). And THANK YOU to kouw for the beta-magic.**

* * *

That night she entered her sitting room with a glass of sherry. She felt guilty about having taken herself.

She thought about sin, about virginity. About what she'd actually done, and especially what she _hadn't_ done. The act that takes away virginity - that was nothing she had done. A glass stopper was so pure, so small. So innocent. Surely she hadn't sullied herself with a little act like that. She certainly didn't feel she'd _lost_ anything.

Honestly, she was a little bit angry about her guilt, her fears. She'd been taught not to have these feelings, but she wanted this. The building pleasure, the onslaught of bliss. The joy in it, the deep sleep afterward.

With him she wanted everything. Marriage, a cottage. _This_. And she hoped his feelings for her went deeper than the lust - _why not call it what it is_ \- that she'd seen in his eyes. But they were unable to talk normally about household things, let alone _this._

She sighed, wondering if it would ever come to that.

Then she locked the door behind her and removed her knickers.


	30. Chapter 30

**Very NSFW. HughesxHughes.**

**Thank you kouw for awesome beta magic!**

**Please leave a review to let me know if you liked it or if it was awful.**

* * *

She looked around her sitting room, imagining how this might work, and settled on moving back to his pantry. She needed the softness of that red plush chair.

When she'd locked the door behind her, she stripped to her shift. On his desk she laid a new six-inch taper candle and her hand mirror.

_If I'm going to do this, I want to see it._

After a little maneuvering, she found a position that worked. The plush chair was pushed up to the front of the desk and she lay back in it with her feet up. She placed the mirror carefully in front of her so that it leaned on the desk.

_His _desk. She knew exactly why she came here to do this: she wanted to be surrounded by his things, his scent. She imagined now that it was his hands sliding up her inner thighs.

She recalled the passage in _Married Love _about the different parts and where they were.

She watched in the mirror as her fingers opened her outer lips. She thought it all looked strange from this angle.

_This is where we all come from._

She smiled a little at that. Nothing about this was strange, not really.

She explored a little bit, moving gently, looking at herself. Here was the place where she had pressed the stopper. The memory brought the beginning of wetness and a small rush of pleasure.

Here were her inner lips, and this at the top must be the cli - _ohhhh_.

She smiled. A private joy welled up within her at this newfound power.

She closed her eyes and stroked herself there for a few moments, lingering on the places that brought the most pleasure.

Opening her eyes again, she looked in the mirror. She could see that things were getting, well... Rosier. Fuller. She kept at it, watching. Seeing what moved with her fingers, what changed. There was more wetness, and it was slippery and it felt _fantastic_.

She wanted more, wanted contact like the other night, and she thrilled at the knowledge that she was going to _see_ it.

She took the candle and pressed the rounded end against herself. Watched as the tip disappeared inside. Her breath trembled.

She moved the candle in and out. Slowly. It slid easily, and the gentle friction and pressure of it felt incredible.

She discovered that some angles felt different. She rocked the candle against herself, forward and back. Watching as her hand moved it. Slowly. In and out. Over and over.

She found that she could take it in a little deeper than at first - _wanted_ it deeper. She stared at her own movements as she brought it nearly all the way out before pushing it slowly inside her again.

She found the movements that brought discomfort and learned to prevent them. She found new, secret places inside that made her gasp.

Her other hand had rested against her for some time as she had watched this. Making love to herself. Now she began to move it, touching that sensitive place again, gently pressing her lips against the candle now and then, relishing the building tension, the sweetness that grew from deep within her.

Soon she began to feel that marvelous sense of inevitability again. Her breathing was shallow, excited, and she smiled to herself, fascinated to watch herself thrusting the candle in and out. The feeling grew and her fingers went faster and harder and then it all happened at once. Her whole body arched in almost unbearable ecstasy. She could feel her inner muscles clenching around the candle and she slowed its movements. Her eyes closed tightly as she gasped, letting up on the pressure with her other hand -

_oh yes oh god it's too much it's perfect it's too much I can't, oh god I can't stop and I think that voice is me -_

Because she was keening. She had released several breathy, loud moans and had surely let loose a profanity or two.

She came down from it, breathing hard, looking again in the mirror. Everything was flushed pink and there was some wetness and she pulled out slowly. Everything was quite slippery. It occurred to her that she could be ashamed of this, but in her current state of euphoria she made the decision that she would not, could not anymore.

Maybe she would see it all differently in the morning, but for now there was bliss.

She leaned back in his chair and smiled, eyes closed, breathing in her own scent. _Enjoying_ it. It was so wanton, so shameless, and she suppressed a giggle.

_Oh Els, you've been missing out on so much._


	31. Chapter 31

**a/n thank you to kouw and mrpoohnminnie and chelsiefan and evitamockingbird. xoxoxoxo**

**thanks for the reviews! please leave one if you have the time!**

**this one is probably NSFW. Not as much as 30.**

* * *

She opened his window on the way out. Every time.

Over the next two weeks, her opinion about her actions shifted between elation and worry.

She'd found that sometimes she could have more than one of what _Married Love_ called "crises."

She was able to control her vocalizations when she knew what was coming.

Sometimes she used the mirror, sometimes not. The candle was long gone, burned up for light in her room. She learned about the curl of the fingers, the many possibilities of skin against skin. The pressure in different places, the pleasure that grew each time she learned more of her body.

The faint scent that lingered on her fingers even after washing. It made her even more conscious than usual of keeping physical distance between her body and others.

Occasionally she felt guilty. Mostly it was because she was invading his space.

_As if his pantry - or any of the rooms in this house - were really that private._

She thought back to some of the times their conversations had been interrupted. Quite often, it had been in moments of emotional near-intimacy.

The _other_ source of the guilt, well. Since she had begun sleeping better and taking joy in her discoveries, it really _had_ taken on the simplicity of science against dogma. And she was firmly on the side of science in this case.

"_The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife."_

_Someday,_ she thought. _Maybe._

* * *

The next two weeks were torture mixed with bliss.

He did indulge. He could not help it any longer. And oh, the thoughts of her that came to his fevered mind. He felt disgusting, lecherous, base.

It was starting to take longer each time.

He tried to justify his actions with fantasies of how he could make it right.


	32. Chapter 32

She sighed, hung up the telephone and briskly left his pantry, notes in hand. She found Daisy and Ivy in the kitchen and told them the news.

Surely the girls would attribute the unusually high pitch of her voice to stress from the sudden change in plans.

The unexpected call had been strictly about household matters, thank the Lord.

He'd sounded relatively calm, as if the only thing bothering him were the prospect of managing Grantham House without Mrs Bute. She'd carefully controlled her breathing after her initial gasp upon hearing his voice.

She wondered if he'd gone off her. She asked herself how she'd been so sure in the first place.

What she did alone was intensely satisfying and meaningful on its own, although she still had her moments of doubt and worry.

She had become very good at it.

That didn't mean it was the only thing she wanted.

* * *

He hung up and crossed into his pantry. After locking the door he sank into his desk chair and rested his head in his hands.

His heart was pounding.

Even with the relief he'd been allowing himself, the effort of holding a normal conversation with her was exhausting. Harrowing. He'd barely made it without confessing something he was sure she did not want to hear.

From the moment Mrs Bute started to feel unwell, he had feared it would come to this.

_One bloody day._ It should have been six more weeks. He might have been ready for her then.


	33. Chapter 33

He waited in front of Grantham House. He was required - and prepared - to greet Lady Edith. He _wanted_ to greet _her_.

He also wanted to hide.

* * *

_God help me, there he is._

Yes, she'd expected to see him. Still - he was there, silver hair, prodigious brows, soft lips. The warm skin whose touch she craved was confined as usual in stark black and white. God, how she wanted to undress him. Layer by layer.

Her heart clenched. He looked _miserable._

"Oh Lord, Mrs Levinson's arrived."

* * *

He silently cursed whatever miscommunication had made the family unaware of Mrs Levinson's arrival time.

While Mrs Levinson spoke, he stole the quickest of glances in Mrs Hughes's direction. It had been over two months since he'd seen her and she was lovelier even than he remembered. He wished he could tangle his fingers in her hair and kiss her right here in this bright sun.

He forced his attention back to the matter at hand. So impeccable was his training that it appeared as though he had never strayed from the conversation.

"Shall we - " he looked at her, wishing they had time to talk and glad they didn't - "let Mrs Hughes get inside, milady, and then she can make a plan?"

For half a second, no one was looking at her. She took advantage of the instant to lavish him with a brilliant smile. She ducked her head to compose herself and looked up with a polite smile at Mrs Levinson, who was speaking to her.

"Mrs Hughes, I didn't know you were running this house too."

"Not as a rule, madam, but Mrs Bute is ill, so I am to take charge until she's better."

"Well, I'm glad at least one person under this roof knows what on earth is going on."

She had taken Mr Carson's proffered elbow and he looked down at her hand, somewhat uncomfortable. Crazily, he wished it were her on his arm.

Did he look apologetic? _To me? You're imagining things, Els._

She watched as he helped Mrs Levinson up the stairs, her eyes flicking from one to the other. _Poor man_.


	34. Chapter 34

a/n Thank you for all the love! I'm so happy you are enjoying my little tale of two goobers. This one has mild imaginings of things that would not be SFW.

Please leave a review if you have a moment; I LOVE them. Many thanks!

* * *

"Hello, Mr Carson."

He was updating the board and he returned her broad smile with a small one of his own. He seemed calm.

For a mad half-second, she wondered whether he would close his eyes if she reached up and touched his lips. She bit back the smile that suddenly felt naked.

"Am I glad to see you," he said. She felt a rush of adrenaline. "We've been struggling a bit without Mrs Bute."

_There. He's glad you've come to help run the house. Nothing more._

She rolled her eyes; that idea was even more absurd than her unspoken hopes. After all these years she knew he at least _liked_ her.

"And will Mrs Levinson's arrival make things simpler, do you think?" She looked everywhere but at him, trying not to imagine those lips trailing along her collarbone, down to her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and -

He gave a low laugh. "As a matter of fact, I'd value your opinion." She followed him into the pantry. "Her Ladyship has asked me to organise a treat for the staff after the ball as a thank you."

"Well, that's very kind."

"They've started opening the new Science Museum..."

He was showing her an advertisement. He was too near and her breath was coming too fast. She concentrated on the page, but she couldn't help glancing at his hands as his gestures brought them very close to her body.

"...between that and a visit to the Crystal Palace on its new site at Sydenham Hill."

So. He was planning an excruciatingly dull event. Maybe things were starting to get back to normal.

Normal, yes. Except for the now-familiar thrill that shot from her heart through her abdomen, tangling between her legs every time she saw or heard him or - _oh Lord, help me - _smelled his scent, as she could now. _Don't think about the other two, Els._ It was too late. She wanted taste and touch as well, oh yes. She wanted everything.

She willed herself to speak evenly. "I see. And this is a fun day as a thank you, is it?"

"Yes. I think it's very generous." He seemed slightly wounded.

"So do I. Very generous indeed." She felt a scoff coming but she refused to humiliate him.

"Maybe you should try your ideas on the staff," she said, handing him the page. "See what they jump at."

She clasped her hands to still them, then left the room, shaking her head.

_I'm getting too old for this foolishness._


	35. Chapter 35

**a/n thank you kouw! and mrpoohminnie! and klswhite! Thank you all for the reviews, follows, favorites, likes, and reblogs! please do leave a review if you have a moment. You all are the best. MWAH.**

**NSFW...and naughty words!**

This is Mr Carson's POV of the same scene as 34. ...kind of.

* * *

She rarely declined an evening sherry with him, but today he had been too close, his voice and his scent too… _present._ So she excused herself, claiming fatigue from the journey.

Her door locked, she rushed to the bed, hitched up her skirts and did away with her knickers. She curled as much as her corset allowed and pushed herself with both hands to a rapid climax. And another.

* * *

He was both disappointed and relieved that she'd gone up early.

After finishing his scotch - in a _proper_ glass - he sat in bed and took himself in his hand, letting their conversation repeat in his mind.

"_And this is a fun day as a thank you, is it?"_

Her sarcasm was not lost on him. He was not angry - far from it. He wanted her even more when she was like this.

He couldn't bear to hold the page at the same time as she did.

_"Very... generous indeed."_

He imagined the intricacies of her mouth.

Her teeth resting on her lips for the _v_.

Mysterious positions of the tongue to roll an _r _and produce a _d_ that sounded like a _t._

He would have liked to close the door and slam her up against it.

He would have kissed her lips, her neck - driving his fingers into her hair, undoing her dress until he couldn't stand it anymore and ripped it open, buttons flying. He would have licked the swell of her breast above her corset and run his hands down her body to pull her closer, pushing himself against her.

She might have torn his clothes off. She might have hiked up her dress and wrapped her legs around him as he thrust inside her against the door. She might have breathed indecent words in that brogue that tangled his mind.

She might have even made those sounds that the showmen used to brag about, unhinged and moaning-

But for once he was in no hurry, so he slowed down to make it last.

A different fantasy took over.

_Her,_ closing the door, kissing him hard, pushing him backward into his chair. Climbing him, opening his trousers and sliding down onto him. Holding the back of the chair as she rose and fell.

Her corset (_somehow_, _magically_) open, he would have taken one breast into his mouth and sucked the nipple while caressing the other. He would have pulled the pins from her hair and grabbed handfuls of it, hauled her face down, kissing her hard as she slid up and down, with his - yes, yes, his _cock_ \- up and down - she was riding him, and he was _inside_ her - yes - in her - her - in her _cunt,_ spilling-

The dimly-lit room was silent but for his ragged breath. He came undone to wanton images and sudden, shocking words.

Afterward, he was not sure how he felt. His shame had begun to seem rather out of place: he loved her.

But those _words._

One image from reality lingered: the rise and fall of her chest as they'd stood together.

She had been breathing fast.

A trace of hope began to wander through his thoughts as he fell asleep.


	36. Chapter 36

a/n And we're back! Just had to finish off Tempered. Also, school is starting to I have less time to make this joyful noise than I had over the summer. alas!

Be sure to (re)read Chapter 35 (or the whole popcorn trail, if you want! hey, why not?) if you don't know what the heeelllllllll is going on here. :D (giggling at own fanfic)

Thanks for your reviews! please leave me one if you have the tiiiime. you all are the best. i LOVE you. xoxo

p.s. They are in London, so her sitting room is right across the corridor from his pantry.

* * *

His former life had never served him so well. It meant going on even when something slipped. Covering mistakes.

Not letting on.

Every exchange with her was excruciating. Every time they passed each other, his hands itched to - he didn't even know what; this was where love, respect, and desire collided. He wanted to slam her against the wall every time, but he pushed the thought away in horror.

_I would __never._

The idea of forcing her into _anything_ was anathema. He tormented himself with thoughts of _her_ crossing that corridor into his pantry, slamming the door, and wrapping him in her willing arms - _her willing legs, her mouth, her cunt - oh Christ, this can't go on._

He spent his days behind a moving wall of restraint.

Nothing was outwardly noticeable. In his mind he ravished her a thousand different ways.

At night he indulged in what he felt were the lewdest fantasies. There were images of her bare breasts, his hands caressing them. He thought of how it might feel to run his hand along the smooth, burning skin of her thigh, up further and further, reaching the source of all that heat, opening her up and plunging inside, grasping her hips, _fucking_ her, his woman -

And then, the guilt.

He wanted to tell her of his heart (_his need his want his lust)_, but he couldn't be sure what she would think.

But that trace of hope _needled_ him.


	37. Chapter 37

a/n NSFW, as always.

Thanks for your reviews!

Please do leave one if you have a moment.

Thanks to kouw and to mrpoohnminnie!

* * *

At night she pleasured herself. Breathless, silent, luxurious.

After a few days she thought of her hairbrush. She wondered why she hadn't noticed its gentle curve and rounded edges before.

_Because you weren't in your room at Downton. Too many light sleepers._

The handle was hot from washing, the worn etchings astonishingly stimulating to her sensitive skin.

She imagined her hips rolling up to meet him.

* * *

After some hesitation, she had brought _Married Love_ along to London.

"_...in what position should the act be consummated?"_

She rolled her eyes.

_Everyone knows that._

"… _a curious idea seems to exist that it is 'immoral' or 'humiliating' for the man if the position is reversed."_

_Oh. Right._

An unbidden image of Ethel. She grimaced.

"_Yet Ovid recommends it to little women ..."_

A shiver. Welcome images of her big man _under her_.

She put the book away, turned out the light, and went on all fours, then lower. Her legs being pushed apart by her own weight felt erotic in a way she couldn't have explained.

_Oh yes you can, Els._

She knew why. She was on her knees, touching herself and imagining _riding_ him.

Rising and falling. His chest under her hands, his — his — his _manhood _— moving within her. Her legs wide, holding him tightly.

Spreading her wetness, stroking her lips and her _clitoris_ — she could almost whisper the word now, but it sounded so _sharp_, so _clinical_ — she slid the brush handle inside. Its curve matched her internal shape.

Rocking backward, she found a new secret place inside and gasped.

She froze.

That had been her _voice_. A little audible yelp.

She lay down swiftly, covering herself with the blanket. Listening. Motionless. _Not finished._

Footsteps. A knock.


	38. Chapter 38

**a/n Make sure you've read 37 before reading this one.**

**NSFW**

Thanks for the love! Please leave me a note if you have the time! Thanks to everyone and especially to kouw and to mrpoohnminnie.

* * *

Their bedrooms in Grantham House faced one another. It was unusual, but in the smaller house they had to make allowances.

On the way to his room, he heard it.

A sob, maybe? A muffled sound like falling. Then nothing.

It would be improper to knock; he should go find Mrs Patmore instead. But he was concerned.

He knocked.

"Mrs Hughes, are you alright?" He tried to speak quietly.

He knocked again. No response. Worried in earnest, he quietly opened the door.

She lay on her side, her back to him. He watched the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist as they moved with the deep and even breath of sleep.

— _oh God Els just breathe normally pretend you were sleeping just don't oh god this cannot be happening _—

"Mrs Hughes?" His voice, so soft now. "Are you alright?"

— _don't let on, Els, don't don't don't _—

"Mmhhh?" She turned her head, feigning sleep.

It was still inside her_._ Held in place by the hand she didn't dare move. She had been so _close_, and every motion of her body made the muscles of her sex tighten and release around it.

She called on all of the restraint she'd ever been able to muster in order not to shudder, not to moan as she pushed up from the pillow, twisting to look bleary-eyed at him.

The consequences if he caught on were too terrible to imagine. Their friendship, ruined. He would be appalled. Mortified. Disgusted with her.

"Oh, Mrs Hughes, I'm sorry I woke you. Only, I thought I heard a sound and I — I wanted to make sure you were alright..."

He trailed off, staring at her braid draped over her shoulder. He had never seen her like this before, all warm and sweet and mussed from sleep.

She couldn't form words at the moment, so she kept up the ruse. Mumbling, she lay back down.

Everything in her wanted to arch, to moan as the slight movement caused the hairbrush to shift. She forced herself to lie still, to breathe as if asleep, and to relax her inner muscles.

He was relieved. Maybe the sound had been her dreaming. At Downton his room was far from hers, so he never heard her.

_Never heard her sigh or talk in her sleep._

Suddenly he wondered what her hair felt like. Whether she might sleep with her back to his chest, or if she needed space. If they might lace their fingers together, his arm around her waist.

His heart fell. He was _in her room. _Watching her _sleep_.

It was an intrusion of inexcusable magnitude.

He had to leave. Immediately.

He retreated, closing the door softly. His fantasies that night were richer and more tender than ever before.

Hearing the latch, she shuddered — caught between laughter and tears, overcome by both.

She was horrified at what could have happened but she was trembling for release.

She got on her knees again. _Oh_, but it was _good_ this way.

Rhythmically she pressed on that place inside, touching herself on the outside, imagining what _else_ could have happened.

He would have come to her, pleasured her with that smooth hairbrush before gently pulling it out and replacing it with his hands and then himself. Under her, over her, thrusting deep into her. They would drown in pleasure together and he would fall into her, home between her thighs, spilling inside, his weight solid on her. And they would kiss, drugged on each other, and she would never let him go.

She gave herself release over and over again, silent but for her ragged breath.

Catching her breath afterward, she wondered what had made him linger so long.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N

OMG this might be SFW. Probably not.

Thanks, everyone! Please leave me a review!

* * *

Magnificent. The peacock of the grand estate. Soundlessly providing luxury, filling wine glasses, keeping order.

Falling apart inside, brought to his knees by the sight of a sleeping woman with braided hair.

Yes, he still wanted to do those other things. But seeing her asleep, so peaceful, so sweet, made him ashamed.

She avoided his glance at breakfast and he knew why. He felt his indiscretions must be visible somehow. Words tattooed across his face.

He looked at his ledgers and felt as if they held nothing but pornographic scrawls, the record of the filth in his mind.

Of course the ledgers were impeccable as always.

He would not give up his self-indulgent acts in the morning (necessary) and at night (pervasive, obscene, but laced through with tenderness). He considered it a fair trade for being able to breathe during the daytime. For the ability to play his role.

* * *

Teatime was hell with him so close.

_He thinks I was sleeping._

_Does he?_

_I think he does. Look at him there, all moony. If he didn't, he'd be avoiding me._

_Just as I'm avoiding him._

_Why would he look like that if he thinks I was sleeping?_

_I don't _— _Shite. _

A word she hadn't used in decades.

He'd looked at her. Kindly. Seen her _staring_ at him. She looked away.

_Moony? He's more attuned than ever. He knows. He knows. He knows._

She couldn't breathe. He hesitated.

_She looks afraid, or… something. I'm such a cad. She must be so angry. Bursting into her room like that. She deserves better._

He invited her to sherry in his pantry that night so he could apologize in private.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N **I honestly didn't intend to leave you all hanging for two days! Real life is really impinging on my ability to spend lots of time writing this stuff, alas.

Special thanks to** kouw!**

Please leave me a review if you have a moment. Thank you!

* * *

She'd refused, claiming fatigue.

He sat alone in his pantry. One glass of scotch became three and he teetered upstairs, berating himself for a hundred poor choices.

She was done with him. Of this he was certain. Whatever kind feelings she might have had for him — _don't kid yourself, old man; she already thought you a prig, and now she thinks you're a cad as well, and she's right_ — had been swept away by his transgression.

Morning brought agony of various kinds.

* * *

She couldn't face him over sherry. Not tonight.

Not after arguing with herself all day.

_He knows._

_He couldn't possibly know._

Everything about it was concealed. Thoroughly. By blankets, the angle of her body, the nature of the act itself.

By morning she'd convinced herself that he had not a clue what he'd interrupted.

(Not him; he had interrupted nothing. She had interrupted _herself_ with her vocal response to sudden, shocking pleasure, intense almost to the point of pain.)

She held on firmly to three facts as the day went on.

First, he had entered her room — a serious breach of decorum for him. Because of worry for her.

Second, he had apologized for waking her; therefore, he could not possibly know what she had been doing.

Third, he had lingered a long few moments after ascertaining that everything was alright.

She couldn't say precisely _how _long; every second in that position had felt like hours.

The first was a revelation. Something had shifted. Something beyond their agonized breathlessness and trembling want.

She turned the third over and over in her mind. Wondering.


	41. Chapter 41

**a/n**

**OMG More than one update in a day!** Today's updates started with **40**, so please make sure you see that one first.

Many thanks to kouw and mrpoohnminnie!

And many thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Please drop me a line if you have a moment! Ya'll are the best. MWAH

* * *

She was still wondering by the time they sat down at the servants' tea.

He had taken breakfast on a tray in his pantry, and with preparations underway for Lady Rose's ball, this was the first time she'd seen him since last night.

His pain was obvious from the way he winced at the light and grimaced at the footmen's voices.

She buttered a slice of bread and set it on his plate. The gesture cut through his fog and he startled, staring wide-eyed at her with a mixture of suffering and incomprehension.

She frowned in confusion. He looked far more devastated than a headache alone would explain.

"Have you taken a headache powder?" Her voice was so soft. He shook his head, more from bewilderment than in response to her question. "Well, we'll get you one after tea."

"Thank you," he managed.

She imagined rubbing his temples with gentle fingertips. Easing his pain.

Oh, she wanted the rest too, and the idea of touching him that way did send a wave of desire through her body, making her tremble a bit as she brought the teacup to her lips.

But those three little facts had helped her to get out of her own head somewhat and she could look at him, really look at him again.

After tea, she filled a glass and he followed her to her sitting room. He stood in the doorway, not entering farther than explicitly invited. His hands fidgeted at his sides.

She mixed the medicine for him. Despite his efforts, their fingers touched as she handed him the glass. She didn't seem to mind.

He still berated himself, but his confusion grew as she gave him kindness after kindness.

Then she surprised him even more.

"Mr Carson, would you join me for sherry tonight?"

Even in her calmer state today, it took courage to invite him. His responses to her words and gestures were strange, but the question in her mind left her no peace.

He closed his eyes against the thought of alcohol. It stung her momentarily.

When he requested tea instead, she gave a tiny smile.

Alright, then. Tea.


	42. Chapter 42

**a/n** Thank you for the reviews! Please drop me a line!

special thanks to kouw!

* * *

He waited in the doorway, holding the loaded tray. Afraid to cross the threshold without express permission.

"Mrs Hughes?"

She looked up from her ledger.

_He still looks miserable. Why is he waiting out there?_

She thought she might know why. She invited him in.

* * *

They sipped. Several times he took a deep breath, trying to start. To apologize. The subject was so uncomfortable.

She looked at him in sympathy. Spoke in that soft voice that made his knees buckle these days.

"Has your headache returned?"

"Er, well — I — no. Not exactly."

She smiled at him gently. Waited.

She would have liked to touch his face, to kiss his forehead.

Slip her arm around his neck, slide onto his lap, and kiss his mouth until he couldn't breathe, but maybe then he would smile again.

She imagined loosening his tie, undoing a few buttons, and sliding her hand into his shirt. She wanted to lay bare the heat that stayed hidden under all of that clothing. She wondered whether she might feel his desire growing beneath her.

She carefully kept her face from revealing her emotions, but she could not control the flush of her cheeks.

He cringed inwardly, seeing her embarrassment. Speaking of his intrusion made it all so _real_.

"I am not sure where to begin."

She made a small frown. Waited. The hand that wasn't holding her tea she kept firmly in her lap.

"I've committed a — a terrible indiscretion." He cursed his hesitation.

_Of course he would castigate himself for it._

She waited.

_How can she look at me so kindly? After what I've done to her?_

"I entered your bedroom, Mrs Hughes. I had heard something and I thought maybe you were hurt," — _I was terrified again at the thought of losing you — _"but it was no excuse. I should have asked Mrs Patmore or a maid to check on you."

"But you came to my room because you were worried."

"Yes." He would like to sink into the earth.

"And you saw I was sleeping."

She wanted to tell him he had woken her, but she never could lie when it came down to it. Not under oath, and not now.

"Yes." _— God damn it, man, she deserves better than your one-word responses —_ "I intruded, Mrs Hughes, and I am terribly sorry. I hope you will accept my apology and we can go on as we have been."

_Whatever that means._ Each was unaware that the other shared this thought.

"Mr Carson, I was touched that you should be so worried about me."

She didn't sound angry. She _didn't_, and it was baffling.

Guilt and shame started to clear from his mind and he looked up from his tea at last.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He looked down, cleared his throat. She bit her lip.

The silence as they finished their tea was nearly comfortable.


	43. Chapter 43

"Mr Carson, all women need someone to show a bit of interest every now and then, preferably in a manner that's not entirely proper."

He looked in the direction she'd just gone. Mrs Patmore's remark astonished him and gave him some measure of hope.

They had been on more of an even keel for the last two days. It didn't stop him imagining them together, but he was at least able to keep it to his late-night solitude.

_She's forgiven your trespasses. Just don't foul it up._

He cast about for a better idea for the outing.

* * *

"I'm sorry. What you're asking me to do is wrong. Whoever the man, whatever the motive, it's wrong."

Mrs Hughes waited until Lady Mary left, then she closed the door. She sat down at the desk. Her hands trembled.

_Again he's doomed and again I helped it._

It was Anna she was most worried about.

Terror and guilt took up residence in the pit of her stomach and grew quickly upward. She shook in earnest as she stood, then walked out as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. She made it to the bathroom just in time so that the sick didn't get on her dress.

* * *

"Could we tell them about the outing, to keep their spirits up?" _To keep __my_ _spirits up._ " Have you had any further thoughts?"

"Well, I was wondering if we might go for something more obvious. Madame Toussaud's, perhaps. There are interesting historical figures to be seen there and not just sensational ones."

"Are there?"

Even through her fog, she knew something had to be done.

As she left his pantry after tacking up the postcard — _not too low; put it up higher where he'll see it_ — her mood lifted for a few seconds.

Then it fell again.

_You did this, Els._

_I should have thrown it in the fire._

* * *

He watched her, worried. She did her duties but there was an unusual tentativeness in her movements. When he caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile, she clearly put forth great effort to smile back. She was distracted and obviously suffering from a deep upset that she couldn't share with him.


	44. Chapter 44

**a/n** these poor goobers. please take a moment to leave me a review. I LOOOOVE them!  
special thanks to kouw and mestizaa! and thank you to the lovely guest reviewers to whom I wish I could respond.

* * *

Sleep was out of the question. So was _that_.

She fought against the urge to connect her self-indulgence with this disaster.

_No, Els. That's got nothing to do with it._

* * *

It went on for several days.

_She's pale. She barely touches her food._

His mind recreated moments from her cancer scare.

* * *

A knock at the open door of her sitting room startled her. She stood as her guest entered.

"Mrs Hughes."

"Milady?"

Lady Mary spoke under her breath.

"I burned the ticket."

Mrs Hughes struggled to hold her voice steady.

"That's a relief, Milady."

She tried to hold it together but the tears of relief threatened.

They locked eyes for half a second and Lady Mary understood. She nodded, pressed her lips together in a hint of a smile, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mrs Hughes sat down at her desk and rested her head in her hands, giving herself time to let this sink in, finally letting out the silent sobs she'd been holding.

Another knock at her door.


	45. Chapter 45

Of course it was him.

"Mrs Hughes?" _She's crying. Don't bother her. _"I'm so sorry. I'll come back later."

"No, Mr Carson, it's alrigh —"

He was gone.

She let out a shaky sigh and took a few moments to compose herself.

He fled, seeking refuge in his ledgers. _Go on, old man. Comfort her. She said it's alright. Don't be a coward._

He had just started to stand when she appeared at his door, knocking softly.

_She looks pale. Red-rimmed eyes._

True, but she was also smiling.

Baffled again, he approached her. "Mrs Hughes? Are you alright?"

"Yes." Her smile grew as she looked into his eyes.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Only, you've seemed so troubled."

"Yes. Well, that's over now."

He stared, unable to resist breaking into a small confused smile of his own.

"You're sure?"

"Oh, yes. Nothing to worry about."

She stepped closer, giddy after the relief and her cathartic tears.

He didn't know what to do with his hands.

Her heart beat rapidly.

She bit her lip, then looked at him. He stared back in wonder. She looked down.

She touched the back of his hand with the back of her forefinger. He inhaled quickly but did not break contact.

"Thank you for your worry, Mr Carson. I can assure you I'm quite alright."

Sudden acute awareness of the unending activity outside his open door. His hand, cold where hers pulled away.

"I'll be on my way, then." She spoke softly.

"If you must."

His response surprised her and she stopped short. She turned, one hand on the door frame, and gave a small smile before she left.

* * *

Breathless, silent in their beds, both imagined crossing the corridor and opening the door.

Waking the other. Gentle touches turning passionate.

Thoughts of spilling inside her, her legs tight around him.

Thoughts of riding him, reaching that place over and over until at last they would come together.

Silently mouthing the other's name and at nearly the same moment, they both came undone. Spent and blissful, he fell deeply asleep almost immediately. Half an hour later, after coming undone over and over, she lay happy and satisfied and drifted into her own deep and restful sleep.


	46. Chapter 46

a/n our favorite scenes draw nigh. This one is prolly NSFW, but it's so short! Who cares, right? :D

thank you kouw!

Please leave me a review if you have a moment! I looove hearing from you, including the guests to whom I wish I could respond!

* * *

It was neither her place nor her wish to linger at the ball.

Still, she liked watching from the doorway as he gave the signal to the chamber orchestra.

Wildly, she imagined them dancing a waltz like this one. Their hands clasped, his hold on her waist tightening when they turned. Stepping between each other's feet momentarily, rhythmically, as such dancing required.

Her heart pounding at these images, she retreated downstairs to see what might need doing.

* * *

He saw her go. Wished he could follow her. Oh, these functions were a chance for the house to shine. But frankly, he was growing rather tired of pageantry and white tie.

A soft cotton shirt. That would be nice. A garden. A wife with braided hair. The freedom to smile as often as he liked.

He wondered if she would ever have him.

He wondered if she were ever interested in... _that._

He couldn't think it of her. All he'd heard about women who liked that sort of thing were cautionary tales.

In some forgotten magazine, he had seen a drawing of a man doing something so strange. A man with his face _right there_ on a woman. He didn't understand it.

The thought made him so uncomfortable that he had to stop for a moment, refocus his attention.

It would have been a long night even without that torment.


	47. Chapter 47

a/n please leave me a review, lovies! They really brighten my daaaaaay! MWAH

thanks **kouw**!

* * *

_Already gone nine in the morning and those maniacs are still at it._

Passing his doorway, she turned.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

He was resting —_about to doze off if you ask me; poor man _—, a cup of coffee precarious on his lap.

She rarely allowed her face to express what was in her heart, but at the moment his eyes were closed.

She pictured him napping in a hammock. She would smooth back his wavy hair and wake him with a kiss on his forehead, on his lips. He would open his arms to her as she joined him. They would rest, their bodies pressed together.

The thought sent arousal through her to match the tenderness.

She entered his pantry and he stirred.

"Breakfast is done but there are still quite a few in the ballroom."

He shook his head. "No — go to bed. Take the others with you. I'll keep James and give him the rest of the morning off."

_Och, my lovely man, you work too hard._

"And what about you?"

_God help me — her eyes._

The way she tilted her head, her tone of concern — all of it made him want to reach for her hands, pull her into his embrace. Rest his chin on the crown of her head, inhale her scent, feel her warmth against him. Truth be told, he'd like to fall into bed with her right now, just to sleep.

To sleep, yes. Then to wake together and finally, _finally_ taste those lips, feel her heart beat rapidly along with his, grasp one another and raise skirts and do the things he'd dreamed of; he didn't know if she wanted him that way _—_

But duty called.

"It won't be the first time I've gone without sleep."

There _was_ another pressing matter.

"We ought to have the outing settled if we're going on Thursday."

He stood.

"Oh, I feel — a little guilty about that. I tried out my ideas on them and I couldn't fire up any enthusiasm," — he tugged on his waistcoat and she fought simultaneous urges to roll her eyes and take his hand — "so I wonder if we should just settle for a day by the sea."

_His tone of resignation. Don't laugh, Els._

"I know, it's a defeat. But what do you think?"

She bit back her smile.

"We could take the Pullman from Victoria. A day-return ticket costs 12 shillings each. It's a lot — but her Ladyship's happy to pay."

_It's too easy to tease him._

"Well — thank heaven you got there in the end."

She left with a half smile. He frowned, but only just.

She waited up for another hour, hoping he would go to bed. He did not.


	48. Chapter 48

**a/n he is sooo tiiiired!**

**please drop me a line! thaaaaanks!**

* * *

He drifted through the morning until the guests had left and the family had gone up.

He could do it by rote.

He delegated afternoon duties to Mr Barrow so that he could get a few hours' rest, and was up again to serve dinner, which — thank heaven — was a muted affair.

That evening, he wanted to sit with her despite his exhaustion. She almost refused, but couldn't quite resist the idea of spending a few moments with him.

"Ah, Mrs Hughes. I have a special treat for us tonight."

"Do you now?"

"I do indeed." He indicated the large, half-drunk bottle of scotch on the table.

She widened her eyes and picked it up.

"When did you open this bottle, Mr Carson?"

"At the beginning of the Season. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, just..."

_Good God, man, I never knew you could drink like that._

She shrugged and set the bottle down.

"It looks like a good one."

"Yes, it's been very nice indeed. Especially with this."

With an only slightly exaggerated flourish, he produced from his desk a bar of fine dark chocolate.

She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

"If you say so."


	49. Chapter 49

**a/n he's still soooo tiiiired... Check the updates, lovelies - there have been several today! and please do drop me a line! **and try the whiskey with dark chocolate thing; it's heaven

**many thanks to partiallyyours for help on this one. **

* * *

He envied the chocolate on her tongue.

He almost told her so, biting back his words just in time.

But on three hours of sleep and a wee dram, he began to feel that all of this had been going on too long.

_Out with it already._

But he couldn't, not quite.

"Do you know this whiskey?" _Oh, how fine. Now you'll embarrass her if she doesn't know._

"Yes, though I've never had it before."

"This is his Lordship's favorite. I was fortunate enough to receive a bottle from the case."

"Well. I should hope you didn't steal it."

He looked up, scowling, only to see the twinkle in her eye.

A pause.

"I'd love to go to Scotland," he said into his glass.

"Would you?"

"I'd like to see where you came from."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she tried to keep her voice steady.

"Argyll is beautiful."

"It must be." He looked at her for a little too long. "Would you ever go with me?"

To catch her breath, she laughed softly at him, wrinkling her nose. He'd never seen her do that before.

"Oh, yes, Mr Carson, let's just arrange a trip next week, shall we?"

He could not help but smirk. She was a nippy sweetie and he _loved_ her for it._  
_

* * *

THE END*

*JUST KIDDING!


	50. Chapter 50

**a/n he is so tired, you guys.**  
**special thanks again to partiallyyours / partiallyanna for help inventing the accidental blurtings.  
special thanks as always to kouw.**

**please drop me a line - i appreciate it so much! sometimes I even take requests. Just sayin.**

* * *

"Oh yes, Mr Carson, let's just arrange a trip next week, shall we?"

She knew he was overly tired, which could make a person tiddly on its own. He might regret his words in the morning, but he was a delight just now.

She continued seriously, "I know it's terrible that I don't know much about scotch. But this is delicious."

_Chocolate and scotch. You. All of this. I wonder how your lips taste with scotch — __stop_ _it, Els._

"There's something you're supposed to do with your tongue to really appreciate it." He leaned his head back tiredly on his chair with a sigh. "I'll show you one day."

She blushed to high heaven. In the end she managed a high-pitched chuckle. "Oh, you will, will you?"

In the silence he'd almost choked on his scotch, horrified at what he'd said.

He was mystified at her laughter, but tried to give as good as he got:

"Mrs Hughes, you torment me. Laughing at a tired old fool."

"Mr Carson, it's time to get you to bed."

"But the chocolate —"

"The chocolate will keep. Now, off to bed with you."

"Very well, then. I'll say goodnight."

"Good night, Mr Carson."

He trudged up to his room, fell into bed and slept immediately.

She knocked back the rest of her glass and the remnants of his, rewrapped the chocolate, and put it in his desk.

Certain he was gone, she locked the door, removed her knickers — then shrugged and removed the rest as well. Naked and sitting on her shift, she curled in that armchair that smelled of leather and him.

She grinned at the wickedness of it all, the _impropriety_ as she spread her legs and began to touch herself. Thinking of him, his hands on her, his _...manhood_… inside her. She thought of his lips on hers, on her throat, her breast. With expert fingers inside and out, she stroked herself to a silent climax again and again and again.

_After all the panic, all the noise, here we are. And everything is different._

She left his window open and walked upstairs smiling, her head held high. She was clothed but barefoot, shoes dangling from her fingers. Her own faint, intoxicating scent lingering on those fingers after washing.

* * *

He woke up embarrassed. His fatigue and a very small glass of scotch had loosened his tongue.

But yet — she'd _laughed_.

* * *

.

.

.

*a/n: credit where credit's due.

The two lines with her saying it's terrible she doesn't know about scotch and him saying the thing about the tongue are all partiallyyours/anna.


	51. Chapter 51

**a/n and the popcorn trail never ends.. drop me a line pls! I LURVE YOU ALL; THANK YOU.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

At breakfast he felt shy.

_Oh, how fine. __The butler is feeling shy. Breathe, old man.__  
_

She rolled her eyes at him when he intoned something pompous, and he felt flustered. But less shy.

* * *

_"_Mrs Hughes, might I have a word?"

She nodded and followed him into his pantry and he closed the door. She inhaled quickly.

He was standing too close to her, he realized, and he backed away. She almost followed him.

"I just wondered, Mrs Hughes, that is, I wanted to ask you..." He trailed off, looking at her eyes in the bright room.

"Is something wrong, Mr Carson?"

He shook his head. "No, no — I just wanted to ask if I offended you with my remarks last night."

Worried, he waited for her verdict.

She almost succeeded in biting back her smile.

"Not at all. I was glad for our little talk."

A little sigh of relief.

A pause.

"Mrs Hughes, would you like to join me for a little scotch again tonight?"

"I would. Very much. Now, I'm sad to say I must get on."

"So am I."

She stopped short, her hand on the doorknob. Her heart clenched. He was suddenly saying things like this so _freely_.


	52. Chapter 52

**a/n Wednesday. that's Beach Eve, lovelies.**

* * *

He was still recovering from his sleepless night on Monday.

Fortunately for all of them, so was the family.

That night, they had scotch with chocolate again.

"It's quite nice, the way the chocolate and scotch work together."

"I agree, Mrs Hughes. The sharpness of the scotch and the rich smoothness of the chocolate combine ..."

_He 's pontificating._

"...lovely toasted nut flavor…"

She was only half listening to him. She watched him gesture as he discussed the complexities of chemistry and harmony between two such different substances. The combination of scotch and chocolate was indeed marvelous and she enjoyed hearing him speak about a topic that interested him. Up to a certain point.

"...so you see, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

She bit her lip to keep from chuckling. She picked up the bottle, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Look, Mr Carson, this is from Scotland, like me. Is the chocolate from Yorkshire?"

He sputtered.

They could both practically hear the words.

_Does that make you chocolate, Mr Carson? Rich and smooth? Melting in the mouth?_


	53. Chapter 53

**a/n the last update from Beach Eve, everyone. NSFW. Please leave me a review if you have time.**

**Thank you,** everyone - for reviews and all the love on tumblr and ffn. Special thanks as always to **kouw** and special thanks to **partiallyyours** for the Beach Eve chapters!

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* * *

"Look, Mr Carson, this is from Scotland, like me. Is the chocolate from Yorkshire?"

He sputtered.

They could both practically hear the words.

_Does that make you chocolate, Mr Carson? Rich and smooth? Melting in the mouth?_

* * *

Desperately he changed the subject.

"That Mr Levinson —"

"Which one?"

"The valet, of course." He scowled.

"Why, has he done something to offend your sensibilities?"

She knew the young man had spoken disrespectfully of Mrs Levinson, but she wasn't about to tell _him_ that.

"He was recommending the hors d'oeuvres to the guests. _Out loud._"

"Oh, heavens!"

Her sarcasm, again — _god_, how she needled him, and he _loved _it. But his diatribe about young Ethan Slade was not finished.

"And do you know what _else_ he did?"

She calmly took a sip, letting the scotch mingle with the chocolate.

"No, Mr Carson, what fresh horrors has he visited upon you?"

"Do you remember when he came to see me? You were just leaving?"

"Yes."

"When you were going up to see Lady Mary in the library?"

"_Yes, _Mr Carson, I remember. What of it?"

"Right. Well, he came in to ask me something, 'man to man.'" He said the words as if they tasted vile.

She smirked at him.

"Don't look at me so, Mrs Hughes — Your scorn pierces my very heart. He came to ask me if there were anything '_going on'_ between our Daisy and young Alfred."

He was utterly charming. She marveled at the distance they'd travelled toward one another.

"And what did you tell him?"

"I said no, of course! And he was terribly impertinent to ask."

She sipped, looked at him calmly. Her heart was pounding, but somehow it didn't bother her. Not now, with them so close and so open.

Then he surprised her: "I wonder if anything _will_ happen between Daisy and Mr Levinson."

She still chuckled at this, because even though she knew he meant the valet, it still sounded as though he were discussing her Ladyship's brother. And the idea of something "going on" between him and Daisy was so ludicrous it made her laugh. Perhaps the scotch had some part in this, but she didn't care.

"Do you think it might?"

He shrugged. "Mrs Patmore doesn't seem worried."

"Oh?"

"She said something about all women needing someone to pay a little attention, preferably in a way not entirely proper."

"Did she now?"

He nodded absently.

"She's right."

He stared at her. He held a sip of scotch in his mouth and didn't dare breathe for fear of choking.

She drank her glass dry, set it down, and stood gracefully.

"Now, I'll say good night, Mr. Carson. We've got a big day tomorrow, what with your 'defeat' of an outing."

He looked at her in confusion and she smiled. She left the room, trembling on the stairs with leftover nerves.

* * *

She undressed in front of the mirror. Slowly. Imagining his fingers taking out her hairpins, his hands opening the many buttons of her dress. How he might slide the dress off her shoulders, open up her corset, and free her from all the layers.

Lying in bed, she imagined his hands all over her body, stroking, pushing, opening her up. She wondered what his fingers would feel like inside her, curling to find that place. How he would press against her, his mouth on her nipple, her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close to her breast. She came undone.

She kept going.

She imagined him replacing his fingers with himself. They would rise and fall together. Him above her, his hand pinning one of hers, his mouth everywhere as he moved within her. Him below her, and she would move against him and they would cry out, finding that release and then falling together in their shared bed.

After, she lay spent and hopeful.

* * *

His pantry still smelled of her — coconut and lemon. He sat for a long while, thinking.

"_She's right."_

She actually _said_ those words. He kept coming back to this reality.

Later, he imagined crossing the corridor and opening her door. No knock, just walking in, touching a shoulder to wake her. Undoing that braid, slipping off her nightgown, running his hands through her hair and all over her body until she begged for him inside her. Oh yes, he would give her what she asked for. He would thrust inside her and he would caress and worship every inch of her, and she would let him, she would like it, he hoped, he wished — he imagined she would give him permission to spill inside her.

He wanted to give himself to her, oh yes. In every way he could, any way she would take him.

The fact that they were unmarried troubled him in daytime; at night it only bothered him after he'd spent himself and lay flat on his mattress, catching his breath.


	54. Chapter 54

**a/n thank you kouw for your beta magic which is awesome as always!**

**please leave me a review. i LOOOOVE THEM. and i LOOVE yooouuu!**

* * *

They sat across from one another, squeezed in on the crowded train to Brighton.

Her ankles were crossed. He noticed her toes just grazing the floor, wondered if she was comfortable.

Maybe under a kitchen table she would rest her feet on his. He wondered if his thoughts were _normal_.

She was reading. Something gruesome, surely.

To anyone else her expression would have appeared neutral, but he saw the slight widening of the eyes, the amused grimace, the tiny frown.

She turned the page and glanced up to find him staring at her. They were only slightly startled.

She blushed and returned his small smile, the tenderness and heat in his eyes.

He turned back to the window.

She returned to her novel.

She looked at the same page for an unusually long time. When he glanced at her, her facial expression was altogether different. Her lower lip was plump and pink from her worrying it. He exhaled shakily and looked away.

_Not __now__, old man._

In her mind she was unbuttoning her blouse and sliding the pin from her hat, staring at him, daring him to notice. He would resolutely stare out the window, but start to sweat as she ran one foot up his calf. He would uncomfortably adjust the coat folded across his lap.

She imagined standing, slowly removing hairpins. Her hair would fall around them as she leaned down, her hands framing him on the hard wooden seat back. She would grasp his chin and make him look at her while she kissed him. Slowly and softly. Then she would back away, him trying to follow her — but she would push him back, sit down, do up her buttons, and leave him gasping while she fixed her hair and went back to her novel.

_As if you could stop there, Els._

She smiled, grateful for the overheated crush of people that explained the flush on her cheeks.


	55. Chapter 55

**a/n  
i LOVE you ladies! thank you the reviews! please keep them coming! MWAH  
thank you always to kouw!**

* * *

He was hovering.

_For heaven's sake, man. It's not as though you were alone with her, what with Mrs Patmore and Daisy not ten feet away._

"Mr Carson, sit down — you're making me nervous." _That smile in her voice._

"I, er — of course, yes."

He lowered himself in as dignified manner as he could, given he was about to sit with her on a blanket just a touch too small for three people.

Meaning there was less than a human body's width between them. Less than a _Daisy's_ width between them. He fought the urge to laugh at that bizarre notion.

They sat almost comfortably together, leaning back on their hands.

It would be so easy to reach for one another.

To touch her hand.

To brush her lips against the shell of his ear.

She sighed. "This is lovely, isn't it?"

"It's a bit warm, but I suppose it will do."

She rolled her eyes, leaned her head back to look at him.

"You can take your coat off, Mr Carson."

"But —"

She made an exasperated sound. "Oh, just take it off, Mr Carson. You'll feel better."

So he did.

There were sandwiches, beer, and lemonade from the hampers they'd brought.

Again she found herself envying the drinking vessels that touched his lips.

As they finished their picnic, a stray football landed very near them, throwing sand across Mr Carson's back. Instantly he turned, ready to excoriate a terrified and apologetic hallboy, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

She brushed the sand away. Soon her one hand rested on his upper arm, lightly curled around his bicep, while the other continued brushing.

Her hand and his arm radiated heat through his sleeve. Her grip tightened a little.

They could actually _feel_ each other's rapid heartbeat.


	56. Chapter 56

**a/n  
chelsie on the beach, part 2.  
thank you, everyone, for reading and enjoying and reviewing!  
thank you kouw as always!**

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* * *

They could actually _feel_ each other's rapid heartbeat.**  
**

* * *

She let her hand linger until the limits of propriety were reached. When she broke contact, he released a long, shaky breath.

She sat upright again, smoothing her skirt. He watched her strong hands whose movements accentuated the exact shape of her hips and thighs.

She looked up at him from under her hat. The breeze had freed his hair somewhat from its usual strictures.

He looked delicious.

And he was staring at her body.

"It _is_ a bit warm, isn't it."

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Fancy dipping a toe in the water?"

He regained his voice, only to say something idiotic. To his credit, it was only from nerves.

"Certainly not."

To her credit, she saw right through it.

"Suit yourself." And she started to take off her shoes. Then she thought through the implications and retreated instead to one of the small structures on the beach to remove her stockings.

His former life had given him just enough knowledge of women's undergarments to fluster him. He refused to look anywhere but at the sea as he imagined her undoing her garters, slowly revealing the soft skin of her upper thighs as she rolled her stockings down. He imagined how her bare legs might feel tangled with his own.

She was coming back, her shoes dangling from her fingers. Smiling at him in the bright sunshine.

He changed his mind about the water, hoping it would be cold.


	57. Chapter 57

**a/n chelsie at the beach, part 3**

**please leave me a review, darlings! THAAAANK YOOOUUU  
**

**thank you, kouw!  
**and here's the wading!

* * *

He changed his mind about the water, hoping it would be cold.

* * *

It was.

Shock and pleasure mingled in his sigh.

She looked back at him with a scoff. _Oh my ridiculous lovely man, you needn't resist this._

"Come on! I dare you."

His mind was stalled by the wind blowing her blouse against her corseted form.

"But if get my trousers wet…"_What the hell are you doing? She just __dared_ _you. __Go._

"If you get them wet, we'll dry them."

"Suppose I fall over?"

A small part of his worry was literal. Another tiny part was a ruse to egg her on. The rest was far more terrifying and mostly inarticulate.

_Suppose I fail you? Suppose I've already fallen for you and you don't want this? _

He thought she might, but he did not like uncertainty.

"Suppose a bomb goes off? Suppose we're hit by a falling star? You can hold my hand, then we'll both go in together."

He was stunned.

_Did she just offer _— _She __did._

He might never again have this chance.

"I think I will hold your hand" — she looked down quickly to cover her sudden joy, breathed in and out, concentrated on the water — "It'll make me feel a bit steadier."

_It's high time we held hands, my lovely man._

"You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady."

It felt like a vow. She prayed he would acknowledge it, return it, do _something_ to move them along in the way the last few days had been going.

"I don't know how but you managed to make that sound a little risqué."

_Thank you, Lord. _

Her laughter was relief mingled with amusement at his endless capacity for pomp.

"And if I did?"

She held out her hand and he took it. He _took it_.

Palm to palm, strong fingers holding fast. His thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"We're getting on, Mr Carson, you and I. We can afford to live a little."


	58. Chapter 58

**a/n  
chelsie at the beach, part 4  
thank you, kouw!**

**thank you, everyone, for lurve on tumblr and ffn! — i love your reviews! — MWAH  
**

* * *

"We're getting on, Mr Carson, you and I. We can afford to live a little."

With their palms pressed together that way, each could have noticed the other's rapid pulse again. But there was too much else happening, so they only guessed at one another's feelings.

_You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady_.

His mind worked that sentence over and over.

He wanted to pull her into him right now, gently, not making her drop her hem into the water. He would encircle her waist and embrace her. Just hold her close. Everything else could wait until they could have a proper talk alone together.

He unconsciously gave her hand a little squeeze, brushing his thumb over it again.

She smiled up at him, pulling him a little closer.

His frown was finally lifting, but the sun still made him squint.

"You say we can 'live a little,' Mrs Hughes?"

_Oh Lord, __now_ _what is he going to come up with?_

"Yes, Mr Carson. What that means depends on you and me both. I can't do _all_ the work, you know."

She felt a surge of adrenaline as she said it, and her hand not in his began to tremble.

Consternation on his face — until he saw that she was still grinning.

She wished she could bring his hand to her lips.

But everyone could still _see_ them. Suddenly she thought what they must look like from shore.

She loosened her hold and he tightened his.

"Mr Carson, I meant it when I told you you can always hold my hand —"

"Mrs Hughes, I —"

"But everyone can see us. I think we should head back."

They did, dropping their hands, and he wondered.


	59. Chapter 59

**a/n  
chelsie at the beach, part 5  
please leave me a review! thank yooouuu!  
thanks to kouw always!**

* * *

He wondered, worrying, trying to hold on to what she'd promised. She'd even repeated it.

_"You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady_."

She'd said they could afford to live a little.

_"What that means depends on you and me both."_

They returned to the blanket. Mrs Patmore quickly found an excuse to leave, taking Daisy with her.

She sat a little closer than before — or tried to.

He sat at the far edge of the blanket.

Surrounded by their staff and unaware of her identical impulse, he wished she could lean her head against his shoulder.

They sat in pained silence for a few minutes.

Finally he risked a few words.

"I'd say it's been a successful outing, wouldn't you, Mrs Hughes?"

Their bare feet toyed in the sand.

"I agree. I'm glad you got the idea for a day by the sea."

He frowned.

"But surely it was you — the postcard —"

A cryptic smile, a sideways glance below the brim of her hat. "A woman never reveals her secrets."

"Plotter."

He watched cautiously for her response.

Delighted, she ducked her chin and laughed.

He could breathe again.


	60. Chapter 60

**a/n**  
the end of the beach day.  
please drop me a line to let me know what you think of this sloooow buuuurn! I LOVE your reviews!  
thank you to kouw as always! and evitamockingbird and klswhite and mrpoohnminnie and partiallyyours and chelsie fan and so very many others!

...Golly, that makes it sound like this is the end, doesn't it? Well, it isn't. :D

* * *

Mrs Patmore quickly sat down across from him, forcing them to sit together. Before long, their colleague was asleep.

The train was overfull again.

They tried to prevent their legs from pressing into one another. Gradually, each hoping the other wouldn't notice, they gave up. That useless bit of propriety was not worth the discomfort.

* * *

"'_He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.' I lay quiet, looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful antici _—"

He gasped in shock. She followed his eyes to her open book, amused and only slightly embarrassed that he'd seen _this_ of all pages.

He looked horrified. "What in God's name are you reading?"

"You would like it, Mr Carson; it's from the last century."

"But it's —"

_Titillating. I want to hear it in your voice._

He swallowed hard.

She spoke quietly, her tone deliberately over-dramatic.

"It's called _Dracula_. A young man, ensnared in the trap of a monstrous and immortal count who drinks the blood of innocents and turns them into abominations like himself. He must free himself, and then save his beloved, a dear sweet lass named Mina, from the very clutches of the beast."

He held up a hand with a look of mock agony.

"Please, Mrs Hughes. Have mercy on an old man."

She smirked. "You're not _that _old."

"Hmm." He smiled, pleased, not knowing how to respond.

* * *

Her head on his shoulder, her body relaxed against his.

She took his breath away.

Torn between letting her sleep and keeping that odious book from falling, he plucked it from her lap with two fingers, marked her page with the ribbon, and folded it into the coat on his lap.

After a time, she startled awake.

"Oh Mr Carson, I'm so sorry."

His voice deep and soft and velvet. "I didn't mind."

She looked up at him and immediately looked away, biting her lip.

He wished he could take her chin and turn her face to his, kissing her softly.

He settled for words instead. "Truly, I didn't."

* * *

She woke again to find that their hands were entwined.

On her _lap_.

Fingers _laced together,_ palm to palm.

Adrenaline shot through her and she could barely breathe as she looked from their hands to his sleeping face.

Not wanting to embarrass him, she managed to extract her hand. Still asleep, he tried to hold on.

She would much rather have kissed and suckled each of his fingers until he was breathless and pressing them into her mouth.

He was vaguely aware of being made to release something very precious. As he woke further, he realized what was happening. He was equal parts mortified, baffled, joyful, and crushed.

They locked eyes for one heated second and looked away, hearts thudding.

Neither slept for the rest of the trip.


	61. Chapter 61

**a/n ermahgerd another one  
thanks, i love you, etc. thanks ****kouw**** and all of you!**

* * *

They could not bear to sit together for sherry. Not after making that _scene_ in the train.

They both knew no one had seen it. But they were reeling from the knowledge that in sleep, their bodies had betrayed the careful control of their minds.

The difference was that now they each knew that the other's body had _also_ rebelled.

* * *

The house buzzed with preparations for their return to Yorkshire.

Neither of them had much actual packing to do.

Still, things were busy. The next day they didn't see much of each other and when they did, they were a little unsure of how to act. Of what was revealed and what was still hidden.

There was just no time to make it right.

* * *

On the evening before he left for Downton, she walked into his pantry to see him asleep, snoring lightly.

Again.

In that same chair. She bit back a smile, thinking of what she'd got up to in that chair.

This time he had no cup of coffee in his hands, thank goodness. She was glad not to have to send her maids in to sweep up the broken china, mop up the coffee.

She approached him. How she would love to wake him with a caress, with the back of her fingers whispering against his cheek. With her breath in his ear. She wondered what he would do.

"Mr Carson?"

He stirred a little and settled back into sleep.

_Poor dear._

"Mr Carson." She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

_Just this much will be acceptable. It's chaste, it's still proper._

Confused, he blinked his eyes open.

She immediately withdrew her hand.

When he realized where he was and who was there with him he gave a start. He hoped there wasn't any visible evidence of the dream he'd just been having.

He barely stopped himself from reaching out for her. From putting his hand over hers on his shoulder.


	62. Chapter 62

**a/n** lots of updates. whut whut. thanks, i love you, thanks, please review, etc.

* * *

She'd been both disappointed and relieved to see him go. Just for one night and one day, he wouldn't be around and she could decide what to do next without running into him around every corner. Without hearing him, _smelling_ him so constantly, just across the corridor from her all day and all night.

Oh, his scent was still there in his pantry when she writhed naked in his leather chair on that last night.

But _he_ wasn't there to fluster her. For one day, that suited her nicely.

* * *

She rode back next to Mrs Patmore, who fell asleep against the window.

Mrs Hughes was wide awake. For one thing, her thoughts were consumed with wondering how they should act around each other. The other thing, well, she didn't know whether she talked in her sleep or not, but her state of adrenaline-rushing arousal practically ensured that she would make some horrifically embarrassing sound or scene if she fell asleep.

The walk from the village to the house was agony.

She entered the servants' quarters.

He was there, waiting. He looked worried, as he had during her health scare.

She smiled at him in greeting and went upstairs with her case.

He tried to smile back. He worried that everything would go back to normal now. His heart was pounding in his ears. He didn't know that hers was going just as hard.


	63. Chapter 63

**a/n** finally back at Downton.  
many thanks to kouw and to everyone who reads and enjoys and reviews and talks with me via PM. You are all lovely. THANK YOU!

* * *

The day was a flurry with all of the things that the family's return entailed.

Because she had been away, there was even more work for her than after a usual Season and she was grateful for the day's end.

And for the invitation to sherry.

Her knock startled him; he was at his desk staring into space.

"Ah, Mrs Hughes. Welcome back." He rose with a smile, wishing he could embrace her.

She had the tray with the decanter and the two glasses from her sitting room. He crossed the room and closed the door behind her, since her hands were full.

Her breath hitched as he passed so near her, and he _heard_ it.

She set the tray down on his little table and sat in the red plush chair.

For a second she almost thought she could smell herself in here, but she shook her head.

_That's impossible._

He poured for them and sat down.

_God help me. The stopper._

Her color was high. He paused.

"Are you alright, Mrs Hughes?"

She coughed. "Yes, of course."

They raised their glasses and sipped.

"Did you enjoy your last day in London, Mrs Hughes?"

"Oh yes, very much. We all had champagne and then played cards with the Dowager."

He actually _gaped_ at her. His mouth opened and closed once, twice.

Then she wrinkled her nose and laughed at him in that irresistible way.

In a failed attempt at disapproval, he looked both helpless and delighted.

"And how was your triumphant return to Downton, Mr Carson?"

"My triumphant return." He was shaking his head and smiling. "You jest, Mrs Hughes, but with one exception, it was a pleasant return indeed. It's always nice to come back a day early and see _you_, so that was different — missing — this time."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I know, I never say it, but it's true." He spoke this into his sherry glass.

Her voice turned soft. "Well. Thank you, Mr Carson."

Their hearts were pounding and their sherry glasses empty.

"I think — I'll say good night then."

"Good night, Mrs Hughes."

She started to open the door.

He had stood when she rose to leave.

He reached for it at the same time she did, intending to open it for her.

Their hands touched on the doorknob. Lingered. It was _indecent_.


	64. Chapter 64

Their hands touched on the doorknob. Lingered. It was _indecent._

He jerked his hand away as though she had burned him — falling back two steps, three.

She turned, her hand still on the doorknob. At the look in his eyes she dropped her hand, took a step backward, and felt the door against her back. She sent up a prayer of thanks for its support behind her.

They both spoke at once.

"Mr Carson —"

"Mrs Hughes —"

They stopped, desperate. They stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

He had a question in his eyes.

She looked at him, biting her lip, wanting. He could _finally_ see it.

"Your poor lip..." he whispered, then looked a bit frightened — he thought he'd destroyed the mood.

He needn't have worried.

She ducked her head with one hushed syllable of laughter, then looked back up at him with a nervous smile, willing him to come to her, to answer these maddening riddles once and for all.

His hand trembled as he reached toward her, paused, hesitated mid-air. She nodded faintly, holding her breath as he came closer. When he brushed his thumb across her lip, she exhaled forcefully and somehow managed to keep still, not allowing her body to sway toward him. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his touch.

At his shaky intake of breath, she looked up at him again with those incredible eyes, dark now in the lamplight. He wanted to close the distance between them, but he wasn't sure how. Didn't know whether it was allowed.

She inhaled quickly through open lips. She turned her face toward his retreating hand as he trailed his fingers slowly back around her ear, tracing its contour, smoothing her hair behind it.

His thumb rested against her cheekbone. He stared at his hand in wonder, astonished that she was letting him touch her so _very_ intimately.

His fingertips slipped in between the strands of her hair and he blinked, swallowed hard, held his breath.

He moved closer. She met him halfway. His other hand shook, hovering inches from her waist.

She reached for him, her hands chaste on his shoulders, bold as they made contact with his burning skin. She touched his cheek with her fingertips, her thumb moving over his evening stubble, learning the textures of him. Her other hand lay heavy on the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

His hand landed on her waist and he pulled her into him.

He leaned in and she reached up and at last they touched, at last they were kissing, his lips on hers, hers on his, he finally tasted that pretty mouth and they very quickly became breathless, passionate, their knees weak.

They stumbled, nearly losing their balance, and broke apart in shock. They were rather mortified as they looked at one another. Her flushed lips, his mussed hair. To avoid embarrassing both of them even further, she resolutely did not look at his growing erection.

* * *

**a/n** **hey, you. the cutie reading this story. how you doin?**


	65. Chapter 65

"Mrs —"

"Do you —"

A pause. Insanity, thudding hearts, frozen in place.

"Mrs Hughes, I must apolo—"

She gave a tiny moan of exasperation. A rapid shake of her head. His voice cut off before he could finish the word.

_No. Absolutely not. You are not apologizing for this, you impossible man, not now_.

He held his breath.

"This is absurd." Her voice, cutting through the nonsense.

He looked as terrified as he felt.

He managed "What's absur —"

And she took his face in her hands and kissed him, pulling him back with her as she landed against the door. He was not quite sure what to do with his hands.

Gravity took care of his uncertainty, as he suddenly had to support himself with one hand on the door as the other slid around her waist, wrapped her up, held her close.

— _oh god her corset what do I do with that_ —

— _that's assuming she lets me do anything at all with it _—

She was kissing him, _kissing him_, finally and he was mad for her, he wanted to — he wanted to do _so many things_ he didn't even know what to do. Where to start. They were already against the door so he settled on that.

She opened her mouth, _her mouth_ and he could taste her; she tasted of sherry, and their tongues touched, shyly, but they listened and learned and allowed it all to bloom right there in that little room.

He pressed into her and their kiss became even more passionate, her clutching at his head, the back of his neck, running her fingers over the shell of his ear, making him shiver.

He bent closer and she drew him in, her arm around his shoulder. Her mouth on his, _god_, he would stand here with this woman forever in this drafty butler's pantry that had smelled like _her_ coconut oil shampoo when he'd got home the previous day.

He knew this couldn't go on but he didn't want to stop her, didn't want to hand her that rejection on top of every other asinine thing he'd ever said to her.

She knew it too. She broke the kiss and turned her head to the side to catch her breath, and his mouth was on her neck. He held her tightly, her shoulders against the door and her back arching, pressed against him where she could feel his hardness —

"Mr Carson —" A breathless gasp, barely audible over the rushing in their ears.

He groaned in response and continued his sweet torment of the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Mr Carson, we have to — we have to stop —"

"Wha — oh no — I'm so sorry —" He pulled back immediately, afraid he had hurt her, defiled her, certain of being in the wrong.

She saw it on his face and shook her head with a quick smile.

"We have to stop _now_. But not — not _always, _I should think —"

She gasped at her own boldness and bit her lip yet again.

He looked at her in wonder, his open hands reaching for her as she pulled away. She squeezed his hands to reassure him and his face registered several emotions in turn.

Then she rallied her self-control. It was the _second_ most difficult thing of this nature that she'd done in her life, but the most difficult one still made her shudder with the memory of that breathless concealment and tormented stillness.

"It grieves me, Mr Carson, but I must say good night."

And she slipped away with a terribly sweet smile, those shining eyes. She closed the door behind her.

He sank into his desk chair, bewildered.

For half a second he was horrified at his actions. Then, remembering her responses and her _words_, those astounding words — "_Not __always_" — he was exhilarated.

_She wants you too, old man. She might even love you._

Suddenly he knew _exactly_ how to make it right.

* * *

**a/n:** **hey sweetpea, are you okay? drop me a line...**


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66!**

**STOP NOW IF YOU DIDN'T READ 64 YET.**

**(multiple updates in one day and this one is pretty important)**

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She left his pantry and went upstairs, shaking with nerves and desire.

She'd been bold and he'd been afraid and she hoped she'd done the right thing by saying those words.

_If not, well. If not, then we're doomed._

_How lovely._

She rolled her eyes at herself and grinned.

_Och, Els. He wants you. Looks like he __loves_ _you as well._

She was elated. Carrying her lit candle through the dark attic corridor, she made her way to her room wearing a brilliant smile.

She undressed slowly, remembering his kisses. His hands caressing her face. His thumb on her lips. His arms around her waist, pulling her into him and she could _feel_ it pressing against her; she could _tell_ he wanted her.

Incontrovertible evidence. She bit back her grin, then set it free.

She lay in bed. Her hands cupped her breasts, grazed her nipples, then she slid one hand down her body. She lay on her back, imagining him above her. She _knew_ now how his lips felt, how he breathed when he was aroused. She _knew_ the way he held her, trembling with restraint, wanting to go further but respecting her wishes.

She had thought of her hairbrush, but she wanted nothing but skin on skin tonight. She knew they couldn't be … _together_ … without being married. But it didn't stop her wanting him, and with fresh, vivid, and very physical memories, she touched herself. Joyfully, silently, and expertly, she gave herself release several times before falling asleep.

She dreamed of him and woke in the middle of the night with her fingers _right there_. Without shame and without guilt, she came undone to the images from her dreams.

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He sat at his desk for a long few moments, smiling. _You're grinning like a madman, Charlie, but you __are_ _mad for her._

He knew what to do.

_How_ was another question, and to a lesser extent_, when (as soon as possible)_.

For now, he had to take care of _this_. He was grateful to her for closing the door.

_Wonderful, impossible woman, leaving like that. But what do you expect of her, Charlie? To sneak around? To live in sin with you? You wouldn't want that for her either._

Unaware that she'd played with a glass sherry stopper in the dark in this very chair, he touched himself and came undone to the memory of her. Her lips. Her hands on his face. Her back arching, her body pressing into his through all those layers of clothing.

He slept awfully well.


	67. Chapter 67

She woke up feeling well-rested.

Mid-stretch, she remembered — with a full-body thrill that started at her heart and rushed through her sex — his hands on her face, his kiss, his lips on her neck.

The risks she'd taken with her bold words.

She needed to see him. She'd said so much and he'd said so little, but she could see that he was overwhelmed. He'd let her leave, his open hands reaching for her even as she'd moved away.

She hurried downstairs and looked for him. Tried to look normal. Stern face, jingling keys.

He was neither in his pantry nor in the Servants' Hall.

She took refuge in her sitting room. Leaving her door very slightly ajar, she sat at her desk to collect herself.

She rested her head in her hands, taking a moment to relax because on top of all of this, they had a hectic day ahead of them. Guests coming — and so soon after the Season — and the continued frenzy of sorting everything after the family's return.

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Thinking her door closed, he walked past, but noticed that it was just resting against the jamb.

He breathed a sigh of relief laced with nerves, excitement, arousal — because he'd been looking for her and he needed to see her —

_— I have to touch her again, taste her — if she'll let me —_

Her words had been so courageous even though they only hinted at what might be. And he needed to know if she regretted them.

He knocked softly.

"Come in," she called. She turned in her desk chair.

He tried to look as calm as possible. He closed the door behind him. He hesitated, facing the door. His hand on the doorknob, he turned his head to look at her.

"Mrs Hughes, you might think me too forward," he began.

_Where on earth is he headed with that notion?_

He must have mistaken her confusion and curiosity for indignation, because his shoulders sagged.

But he had to say it, had to be brave for her. "I — I wanted to ask if I might lock the door."

Her eyes wide, her raised eyebrows. Blushing, she smiled.

"Yes, Mr Carson. Please do."

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**a/n hey, you. how you doin, sweetpea?**

**extra-special thanks to kouw!**


	68. Chapter 68

He locked the door and turned to her.

In the bright light of day, they were full of questions, none of which could be answered by him standing and her sitting there.

But they lingered, taking in the beauty of the beloved. The color of her eyes, the curve of his growing half-smile.

It was the moment when they could still breathe, but only just.

She stood and took a few steps toward him. He unconsciously reached in her direction. She stopped.

He looked at her carefully.

"Mrs Hughes, is everything — that is, are you alright?"

_Darling, wonderful, daft man_.

Her heart felt as if it had both skipped a beat and melted. She couldn't speak, so she just smiled at him, nodded, and held out her hands.

He rushed to her, taking her face in his hands and slowing at the last second. Their breath trembled until their lips finally met, softly, then passionately.

Then his one hand was on her lower back, the other in her hair, his lips on her neck — and she struggled to keep quiet.

She pulled back and claimed his mouth again, one hand around his shoulder and the other inching down his arm. Not quite certain what to do with her hands, she found she also couldn't quite be bothered to worry.

A brisk knock startled them apart.

"Mrs Hu — _ow!_" Anna's voice dropped to a quiet hiss of pain as her shoulder hit the door. They heard her hurry away after half a second's pause.

His hand behind her head, he leaned in to kiss her forehead and she let her hands rest on his chest. They caught their breath, desperately wanting to kiss again. He pulled away, the desire in his eyes unmistakable.

"We have to go," he said quietly.

"I know," she sighed. A pause, then a small rueful laugh. "Poor Anna."

"Are you _alright_, Mrs Hughes? Are _we_ alright?"

"You keep asking that." A small smile.

"I'm sorr —"

"No! No. It's lovely that you ask, Mr Carson. This — we — it's alright; it's more than alright. But right now we need to appear as though _this" — _she gestured to the space between them — "had not just been happening."

She watched him nod and straighten his waistcoat. The butler returned.

They decided it would be best to act as though nothing at all had happened. Even checking the corridor would look suspect.

She checked her reflection and tidied her hair.

When she turned to him again, her eyes flicked downward. _Oh_,_ poor dear — he is going to need another moment._

Taking his coat off would _not_ do, so she handed him a ledger — she refused to embarrass him by explaining — and they simply unlocked the door and emerged, calmly discussing the arrangements for the incoming houseguests. Gratefully carrying the ledger low in front, he ducked into his pantry to wait it out.

At breakfast they didn't even need to pretend. Being around all the others brought them straight back to the reality of their life in service.

They were extremely lucky it had been Anna.

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**a/n how you doin', sweetpea? drop me a line, pleeze. mwah!  
**thanks always to kouw!


	69. Chapter 69

They could not be behind locked doors. Not ever.

Anyone other than Anna discovering it could have lost them their position.

There was always someone about. Passing one another anywhere in the house was both heart-pounding excitement and inevitable disappointment, as they were never even able to touch one another.

It also provided material for their fevered late-night imaginings.

SItting together for sherry was impossible; the houseguests kept him serving drinks until the wee hours.

In her room she pleasured herself. Sometimes slowly, sensuously, with the brush handle or only with fingers. Sometimes frantically, needing release after a particularly frustrating day.

That day they had crossed paths in a narrow corridor. They glanced in either direction before meeting one another's eyes.

"Mrs Hughes."

"Mr Carson."

"I miss you," he whispered.

She melted. "I miss you t—"

But he cupped her face and kissed her, pushed her back against the wall and she went willingly, smiling. They broke apart just as quickly, because someone was coming. They heard and smelled him before they saw him and they were grateful for a few seconds to compose themselves before Mr Barrow passed by.

At least finding an innocuous topic of conversation came easily to them; household matters knew no end.

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**a/n I want to know, baybee. I want to know your thoughts and feels.**

many thanks to all of you! and special thanks to kouw!


	70. Chapter 70

Incessant extra work and the family's late nights reduced their encounters almost entirely to gatherings at the table in the Servant's Hall. The heated point of contact between her left knee and his right made it difficult to speak, but they were not willing to give it up for the sake of words in such a public space.

After several days of this, the guests finally left, the house returned to something resembling normalcy, and she came to his pantry for an evening chat.

She immediately noticed the bottle of scotch instead of the usual sherry decanter.

"I thought we could enjoy the whole being greater than the sum of its parts tonight."

She raised her eyebrows, wide-eyed, and he actually _stumbled_ over his words.

"I — I just — I just meant the scotch and chocolate —"

"Oh, I know what you mean, Mr Carson. It sounds lovely."

Somewhat calmer, he still very nearly spilled the scotch.

They sat quite close together, nearly touching but not quite ready to do so, savoring the blending of the flavors.

"Mr Carson, I believe you were going to show me something about the tasting of scotch."

She blushed as soon as she'd said it. So did he.

"I'm not sure I know to what you refer, Mrs Hughes."

"You're a terrible liar, do you know that?" She spoke into her glass, then took a sip.

His eyes widened. He hadn't thought it possible for her to fluster him more, but there they were.

"So," she continued, "what was it, then? Something with the tongue?"

He cleared his throat. Twice.

"Well, er, you're supposed to take just a little bit into your mouth —"

She did. Though she was no expert, she did know just a little about tasting scotch. She was enjoying the sound of his voice, low and sensual. That, and his obvious discomfort.

"And then you sort of — slowly — ahem — swirl it around your tongue."

She did this too. He imagined the movement of the liquor in the spaces of her mouth and he gripped the side of his chair with one hand. His knuckles turned white. She looked at him expectantly.

"Er. You're also supposed to notice the the consistency of it. Whether it feels thick, or oily, or gritty — it's called the — ahem, the 'mouthfeel.' You want to let it touch all of your tastebuds. All — erm — all over your tongue."

She did. She was _tormenting _him. He pressed on.

"So, you can swallow it, and then you open your mouth a little bit"

— _oh dear god did I just tell her to open her mouth? _—

She swallowed, smiled at him, and parted her lips —

He rushed through the next part, hoping she would close her mouth and hoping she wouldn't — "And you let just a little bit of air in and then let it out slowly through your nose."

She closed her mouth and did so.

"That's called the 'finish,' You might notice some different flavors."

"That was delicious, Mr Carson. Thank you."

She smiled brilliantly at him and stood up. He started to stand, but she stopped him with one hand on his shoulder, the other at his cheek. She leaned in and kissed him with scotch on her lips. He reached up for her and was about to pull her onto his lap when a knock at the blasted door startled them.

_God damn it, these little _—

_Och, what can it be now _—

It was a young housemaid with a sick headache, terrified of Mr Carson, only knocking at his door because Mrs Hughes's bedroom had been empty and her sitting room locked.

The maid waited outside the closed door, and he stayed seated — a rarity for him — while Mrs Hughes got up to open it. With a sigh, she left to fix a headache powder for the girl (_it won't do her much good with that kind of headache, poor dear_) and to make sure she got upstairs again safely.

"I'll say goodnight, then."

"Good night, Mrs Hughes."

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**a/n: i can only assure you that the goobers are as frustrated as you are. i don't know how much more of this bulsht they can take. Bring it on — let me have your wrath!**

thank you to everyone who read and reviews and gives the love on tumblr! you all are wonderful! and special thanks to kouw the magical beta!


	71. Chapter 71

He was miserable.

He was certain that his deeds spoke against any claim he might make to being the _man of integrity and honor_ that she had once called him.

Taking so much from the woman he loved without speaking about it, without promising her anything, ran counter to everything he felt about her.

The very next evening they met for scotch and chocolate again.

She had locked his door, hoping against hope that no one would disturb them. Then she had crossed the room to him where he stood, pulled him down to her, and kissed him. Tenderly, and then with open mouths and shy tongues and barely-contained passion.

He gently pushed her away by the shoulders. Cursing himself for causing the look of pain he now saw on her face, he wrapped her up in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

"Can we —" he gestured toward the table.

She still felt a bit shaky. She had not expected him to stop them so soon, but maybe this was for the best.

A pause.

He asked if the young maid would be alright.

"Oh — yes, I suppose so. She was really suffering last night. She's feeling a little better today."

Another pause, rather uncomfortable. Then he spoke.

"We get interrupted so often."

"We do." She was cautious.

"It's part of our lives."

"Yes."

"What we signed up for."

"I think perhaps we didn't sign up for not wanting to be interrupted."

He looked at her in confusion.

"What do you —"

"I mean —"

They both stopped, holding their breath.

She pursed her lips and shook her head slightly.

"Sometimes I wish we could have the time to finish a conversation before these children come knocking at the door." She looked at her hands.

His heart was pounding. "Do you?"

She looked up at him quickly.

"Don't you?" She wondered if she'd said too much.

"Yes. I do." His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.

He did something incredibly brave then. He held out his hand to her across her table.

She stared at his hand and then up into his eyes. The longing was back, but accompanied by a sadness she had only seen a handful of times before.

In a strange instance of misinterpretation, he saw only the alarm in her eyes and started to withdraw his hand. He was humiliated, certain that she found him maudlin, ridiculous. In a rush she reached for him and held his hand tightly.

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**a/n: Hey, schweetheart! How are you doing? Do you have the wrath? The blues? The feels? Let me know!  
**MWAH

thx to kouw xo


	72. Chapter 72

He stared at their clasped hands across the table.

He blinked, looked up at her for a second. He was fairly certain this could only mean one thing. But he was incapable of speech for a moment.

She misread his silence as a prelude to rejection and started to let go of his hand. But he held on tightly with both hands now.

"Mrs Hughes, I — I _would_ like more time. With you. Alone with you."

She inhaled sharply and worried her lip. The tension in the room made her heart pound and she was fighting back tears.

He stared again at their hands, their white knuckles. Their trembling was barely controlled by the tightness with which they held on.

"In fact, I wish... I wish for a little cottage for just the two of us."

She listened with a small and growing smile. Excitement rushed through her body at the idea of living alone with this man.

Finally he said it out loud. "I wish we were married. I wish — I wish I could kiss you again. I wish ..."

He trailed off, miserable. He was cocking it all up. _Butler of a great estate, and you turn into a bumbling idiot with this woman_.

"Oh, Mr Carson."

He looked up at her with a mixture of anticipation and despair on his face. Her voice was so soft, so kind, that he was sure she was about to either break his heart or save him. Her beautiful eyes shone with tears as she spoke.

"You only have to ask."

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**a/n: are you ok? drop me a line. i looove yoouuuu**


	73. Chapter 73

"You only have to ask."

His mouth was open in shock.

"What?"

"I believe you heard what I said." She spoke even more softly than a moment earlier. Her eyes shone even more brightly.

"Mrs Hughes, I —" _It can't be. She's serious._

She looked at him, her eyebrows raised, but her expression kind. Her calm demeanor masked a storm of emotion and sensation that she was determined to contain until she was entirely, without a doubt, sure of him. Which, she felt fairly certain, would be very soon.

He was starting to believe this might be real.

"I —"

She smiled to see this lovely man falling apart. She knew he was safe with her, but she did not want to interrupt him, so she waited.

He abruptly got out of his chair and dropped to one knee. She gasped.

"Mrs Hughes, I love you."

Insanely, it seemed, arousal shot through her along with a rush of adrenalin. Her heart was racing.

"I love you too, Mr Ca —"

"Marry me. Please. Please. Will you marry me?"

She burst into laughter at this — how absurd their miscommunications had been. He was horrified, but she quickly recovered enough to lean forward to him, kiss him once, hard and fast, and whisper forcefully against his lips, "Yes. Absolutely. Yes."

Then she pulled him to his feet and he took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, trembling with restraint.

Their kiss deepened and very quickly they became breathless. She was aware of his erection and he knew it. He was embarrassed but she smiled kindly.

"I understand."

_I can't touch it yet, as much as I crave you. You'll have to take care of it yourself until we are married._

He was astounded.

_She understands? What —how —?_

He swallowed hard and looked at her. With sudden clarity, he realized that there was only one thing they could do at this point.

"I think perhaps we'd better say goodnight."

She nearly _giggled_ at that, pulling him down to her to kiss him — but she surprised him, taking his head in her hands and kissing his forehead instead.

"Off to bed with you, then. I'll go up too."

He pulled her rapidly into a tight embrace which she returned. Pressing a kiss into her hair, he inhaled her.

"You smell so good."

A thrill shot through her at his sudden boldness and she let out a shaking breath, barely refraining from convulsing against him in a way that would be too intimate for them in their unmarried state. She pulled out of their embrace, brought his head down to hers and kissed his mouth once, then pushed him gently.

He opened the door and she followed him into the dim corridor.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

Unable to spend another minute together without embarrassing them both, they hurried up to their rooms.

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**a/n: how are you doing, darling?  
are you dead? are you alive? tell me your feels! i hope you liiiiiked iiiiiiit! :D**

**your reviews mean a lot to me!**

thank you kouw my wonderful beta!


	74. Chapter 74

**NSFW. multiple-post day! read 69 first. whee!**

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They hurried up to their rooms.

She'd washed her hairbrush and locked her door and now she undressed slowly. In her mind, it was his hands undoing her hair — maybe even braiding it.

She doubted he would want to do such a thing, but it made her smile to think of it.

She wanted his hands unbuttoning her dress. Opening her busk. His hot wet mouth suckling a nipple through her shift.

She silently mouthed indecent words: "_Yes, yes, my man,_ _I want your hands everywhere, my man, your mouth, your lips, I want you, I want you..._"

He undressed more quickly than usual, imagining her hands removing all those layers. Deftly and urgently she would open his trousers, free his cock, and give him permission to take her.

She lay on her back, her fingers sliding in and out, pressing deliciously. With the other hand she stroked herself as she imagined him touching her, opening her. Her legs fell wide to accommodate his body as she wished for him between her thighs.

He touched himself, sitting in bed. She would open up and take him in, maybe push up to meet him. He might kiss and suck on her nipples, if she would let him — he wondered wildly if his wanting that was _normal. _He would kiss her neck — _she seems to like that_ — and then brace himself on his hands and knees and seek entrance.

She slowly pushed the curved handle of her hairbrush into herself, pulsing it against that place, savoring the rush of pleasure it brought. Then she pushed in and out, over and over and over. Slowly, drawing out her pleasure.

His hand moved faster as he imagined her arching beneath him, pushing against him, her legs around him. Maybe she would cry out his name. In reality he feared hurting her. In his fantasies he was free to pound into her. He gripped the sheets, sweating, and he came, mouthing her name as he imagined filling her with his seed.

He came back to bed after cleaning himself and fell into a lovely, restful sleep.

She rolled her hips back and forth, moving the handle in and out, deeper. Her fingers slid over — her — her _clitoris_; the word was still difficult to say, so clinical — and between her lips.

Imagining him thrusting inside her, she moved faster and faster. Stroking, pushing, retreating, over and over until she could feel the muscles of her sex start to tighten around the brush handle and she knew it was going to happen, and then she was arching, breathless in ecstasy, mouthing his name as she shook with her climax.

She came down, breathing hard.

Pulling out, she shuddered with the aftershocks. She turned on her side and cupped her sex for a few moments, then slid a fingertip in between. She gasped, jerking involuntarily.

After a moment she went on all fours, letting her weight push her thighs apart. Resting on one elbow, she brought her hand up to touch herself again. Soon she came again — silently but for her ragged breath.

Positioning the brush beneath her, she slid down on the handle. She wanted him caught between her thighs; she would rise and fall and he would thrust gently to make her come undone, crying out his name — then finally he would let go and spill inside her.

Finally she lay spent and happy. After a wonderful and rather exhausting day, she welcomed the deep sleep that overcame her.

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**a/n: How you doin?**

**MWAH. I love your reviews. Tell me your wrath, your sads, your happy, your explosions! (pretty please)**


	75. Chapter 75

He woke up baffled, elated, and a bit scattered.

He wasn't sure what she'd meant:_"I understand."_

He wanted her so badly. _So badly_, and now he was free to admit it to himself.

His fantasies might actually come true.

_She agreed to __marry_ _you, Charlie. Now go and make it happen. Figure out the details, old man, and meet your bride._

Irrationally, he felt a sense of panic. He was not one to break an engagement and he was sure she wasn't either but such knowledge had little bearing on the urgency with which he needed to see her that morning.

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He rushed downstairs, nearly bowling her over.

"Mr Carson, are you quite alright?" Her _smile_, good god —

She led him to her sitting room and closed the door.

"Mrs Hu —"

But she had pushed him into a chair and was actually sitting on his _lap_, this wondrous creature, suddenly so very bold, and she kissed him deeply. His hands strayed down to her hips and she was making little _moans_ — good _god_, he'd never heard that before and it was incredible.

Then she broke the kiss, smiling, and rested her forehead against his, her arms draped around his neck.

"Yes, Mr Carson?"

"Mrs Hughes, I — good morning."

"Good morning." She gave him another soft kiss on the lips and stood up, sitting across the table from him.

He frowned, but she wrinkled her nose and grinned at him. At that he could not but give her a proud, adoring little smile.

He finally managed to speak: "We have some business to attend to."

"If you're talking about household matters, I won't have it, Mr Carson. Not before breakfast, not today."

He frowned, but at the sparkle in her eye, he understood.

"No, Mrs Hughes. I am talking about our future."

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**a/n: drop me a liiiine pls xoxo**


	76. Chapter 76

He'd always thought he'd die in harness, but suddenly retirement seemed very appealing.

His Lordship blustered and the Dowager tutted, but thanks to the intervention of every other member of the family, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes's employers became amenable to the idea of two still able-bodied servants taking leave of their employ to live in wedded bliss.

Mrs Bute proved a willing, capable, and grateful replacement. So did Mr Molesley, a trained valet and butler — though it took some convincing for Mr Carson to accept him as a successor.

They chose a cottage. Unbeknownst to them, Mr Branson then managed to modernize it with indoor plumbing, including an actual bathroom with an enormous tub. Had they known his reasons for the tub, they would have been mortified. Mr Branson himself didn't like to think about it in too much detail, but he did want to provide the two of them with as much comfort as possible.

The banns were read.

They endured several weeks of torment.

Their acute awareness of soppy smiles from the younger staff.

The increasing temptation to push one another further than they ought to go. Stolen kisses in corridors, roaming hands at night. They kept their evenings short and left the door open.

Teasing him in her sitting room at the end of an evening — naughty words about the kiss at the wedding. Needling him to see what he would do, she started to walk away. He caught her forearm and spun her into him, whispering roughly in her ear.

"_How would you like me to kiss you at our wedding, Mrs Hughes? In front of everyone. What kind of kiss do you want? Do you want it like this?"_

And he kissed and nipped at her neck, her earlobe, the tender skin that was so rarely touched.

Trembling, delighted, she laughed and hung on to his shoulders as her knees buckled.

The night before the wedding, they fled each other. She spent time with Anna and Mrs Patmore, drinking tea and talking at the table in the Servants' Hall. He went up early, secluding himself in his room.

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**a/n: hey sweetpea, how you doin? i loooove your reviews. tell me all about it.**

**MWAH**


	77. Chapter 77

a/n — wedding bells are ringing.

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Obviously he couldn't kiss her like _that _in church. They shared a chaste little peck.

They suffered through the congratulations and made their stately way, arm in arm, hearts thudding, to their new home.

Once inside the door they dropped their things and flew at each other. Her hairpins were everywhere, her heavy silk hair wrapped around his fingers.

It was the middle of the day but they didn't _care._

They stumbled to the bedroom, tearing at each other's clothing. He stopped at her corset, helpless. She scoffed breathlessly and spoke fast.

"I'll do it for you this time, darling, but after that you'll have to learn."

He looked scared but he was enjoying it all the same.

She sat down and made him take off her stockings with his trembling hands. He managed to remove his shoes and socks. She tore at his trousers and he stripped off his shirt and vest.

When the final layers were gone, they barely had the wherewithal to throw the blankets back before tumbling together into bed, side by side.

He fondled her breasts; she moaned her affirmations.

She ran her hands down his chest, wrapping her fingers around his erection and he groaned with pleasure.

"Mr Carson, please — now…"

Thanks to her book and how thoroughly aroused she was, she was unafraid of how big it was.

She rolled onto her back and she pulled him with her, opening herself to him. Her breath shook in anticipation. He looked between her legs and then at her face, asking permission.

"Yes! Please. I want you. Here."

She took his hand and pressed it against her sex. She brought his fingers to her heat, her wetness, shuddering as he became slightly bolder.

"I want you. Please, Mr Carson —"

"Mrs Hughes — Mrs Carson, my darling, I love you I need you I — ohhhh god —"

And he moved over her and she guided him and he pressed, slowly, and slid into her. They arched together. Loudly, deeply, she moaned her pleasure.

He stopped moving entirely. She opened her eyes, staring at him in frustration.

"Wha — Why — don't stop!"

"Am I hurting you?" He was so worried.

"No! God, no. Not at all. I feel — so good, my love. So good. So g — oh god! Yes!"

He began to move within her and she met him stroke for stroke. It was everything. It was madness, ecstasy, climbing together and he was _inside_ her, actually _inside_ _her_, thick and hard between her legs, thrusting deeply. It was more than anything she'd imagined and the pleasure, oh god, the pleasure was growing and growing and —

His breath in her ear —

"Mrs — I love you I love you I'm going to — oh god —" and he thrust breathlessly, silently — two, three more times, then stiffened against her — and then she felt his release inside her.

He was in bliss, he was the happiest man in the world and he covered her with kisses — on her mouth eyes neck nose collarbone — as she shook beneath him. He slipped out of her and kissed her deeply.

She returned his kiss passionately and then some, wishing for the words to make him come back, touch her again, to use his hands if he couldn't anymore, but then he was talking to her through his sleepy haze.

"My darling, my love, I adore you so — "

He was so tired, but he got up to fetch a warm, damp cloth to clean it from her thighs. He misunderstood the trembling of her body as he stroked her tenderly. Returning from the bathroom, he wrapped himself around her, her back to his chest.

He fell asleep.

She was going mad.

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**a/n — tell me about it. tell me all about it, darling.**

**many thanks to kouw!**


	78. Chapter 78

**a/n: Multiple updates! read 77 first please!**

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He fell asleep.

She was going mad.

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Shaking with arousal and seething with fury, she extracted herself from his embrace and went to the bathroom.

_How could he?_

She wrapped herself tightly in her dressing gown and let the angry tears come as she sank to the floor.

_How dare he?_

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Ragged sobs took over instead.

All the passion. All the restraint of the past several weeks — _the past bloody __twenty years__, more like _— gone up in a puff of mediocrity and unfulfilled want.

Gradually, she managed to catch her breath.

_What the hell is wrong with him?_

— But it _wasn't_ mediocrity. No, it was the most wonderful pleasure and he had moved inside her and it had felt so _good_ and then it was over.

She needed release. Now_._

She stood up and then with one foot on the tub she stroked herself, sliding two fingers inside and the fingers of her other hand circling her _cli-_ — _Oh, to hell with that sodding word, to hell with that sodding man and his bloody selfishness._

But she was going to have to say that word, in order to tell him what she wanted — needed, ached for — from him. A few more minutes of her own expert touch was all it took before she reached her own climax.

Afterward, she felt more forgiving.

She hung up her dressing gown, slipped back in between the sheets with him, and sighed. This was going to be more complicated than she'd hoped.

It wasn't entirely surprising.

_He doesn't know._

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**a/n: how you doin? drop me a line. xoxo**


	79. Chapter 79

It was bizarre to be in bed with him. Naked. With him sleeping.

_Being in bed clothed and awake with him would be terribly strange too, Els._

It had all happened so quickly.

He snored softly, his arm around her. She stirred, trying to get comfortable, and he pulled her closer.

It was astonishing, the way he wanted to envelop and claim her even in his sleep.

As for what they'd done earlier — she knew he'd _meant_ well. The whole thing was just terribly infuriating.

She sighed in frustration.

Eventually she found sleep.

* * *

She woke to find him poking against her. She didn't remember reading about _this_.

She turned her head to look at him. He was still asleep.

She turned in his arms to kiss him awake. He opened his eyes and immediately wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

"Ahhh, Mrs Hu — Carson. My love..."

She wondered what to do. She bit her lip and he pulled back, ready to drown in her smiling deep blue eyes. When he saw her face, he froze.

"Oh my god. What's wrong?"

"Well — " she began. She hesitated.

It was one thing to do it herself, and quite another to describe it. To _him_.

His mind raced with all manner of horrible imaginings.

_I've hurt her. She didn't want to. I've forced her somehow. _

She kissed him with all the tenderness she could manage, then pulled back, catching her upper lip in her teeth.

She took a deep breath.

"There's something I'd like to show you."

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**a/n: please do leave me a note, you lovely people! thanks!**


	80. Chapter 80

**a/n: start with 77 today...**

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Late in the evening, they sat at their kitchen table in pajamas and dressing gowns.

It had taken several glasses of wine, but finally she'd found the courage to show him a passage of _Married Love._

She had been sorely tempted to make him read it aloud, but it would have been cruel.

He grew more and more uncomfortable as he read.

"_... in distressingly many cases the man's climax comes so swiftly that the woman's reactions are not nearly ready, and she is left without it."_

He stared unfocused at the page, then passed a hand over his face. He lingered, unable to meet her eyes, his hand over his mouth.

When he finally looked up at her, she was staring at him, silently pleading with him to understand.

"So… you didn't —"

She shook her head._  
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"But you _could have_."

She nodded, wide-eyed, appalled. She tried not to be angry with him specifically.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep in mind what _Married Love_ had said about men simply not knowing.

Of course he had been taught nothing about a woman's pleasure. But he was so perceptive elsewhere, so sensitive to detail that she'd thought he might know this too.

He felt terrible. He truly hadn't known, and he very badly wanted to learn.

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**a/n: how you doing? i love your reviews! i want your thoughts and feeeels. MWAH**

thank you for the everything! lurve! and thanks kouw for beta magic!


	81. Chapter 81

**nsfw, tralalala... Read 77 first, etc. Xoxo**

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He felt terrible. He truly hadn't known, and he very badly wanted to learn.

"Mrs Hughes, I — I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I want — I want to make you happy."

Then came perhaps the boldest thing Elsie Hughes — or Elsie Carson — had ever said.

"Do you want me to show you how?"

He nodded, dumbfounded.

* * *

That is how she found herself in bed again, both of them slightly tipsy. She was sitting against their headboard, her legs spread wide, showing herself to him. He stared, fascinated, learning.

"So. Everything is quite sensitive, my love. And these are the outer lips," which she parted, "and these are the inner lips." She took a deep breath and giggled slightly. "And this at the top, this is the — the clitoris. It's the most sensitive part. It's where the pl- the pleasure comes from, like your — ahhh"

Her voice had turned breathless at the end of that sentence. He gazed at her. His breath caught as she moaned. She was so powerful. So open, so clear about what she needed. It was a beautiful sight to behold and a precious gift she was giving him.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Then she took his hand and placed it on herself. With careful fingers he began to stroke her. She moaned deeply and arched into his touch.

She stilled his hand against her for a moment as she slid down among the pillows. She beckoned him to her and he propped himself up on one elbow.

"Can I touch you —"

"Yes, yes _please _—"

And he did. He slid his fingers over her inner lips, her clitoris, repeating the words in his mind to remember them.

The first time he slid a finger inside her, she gasped. He stopped, sick with worry. "Did I hurt you?"

"What? No! No. I'll tell you if you do, but this is — incredible. Please don't stop, please please yes —"

He slid those strong and gentle fingers against her, savoring and remembering every gasp, every moan, every shudder as he pleasured his woman for the first time.

She writhed under his touch and he sought out the places that seemed to drive her mad.

He kept touching her and soon it all seemed to be escalating. She knew this feeling well, but he had never witnessed it before, and he was glad of her exclamations —

"Oh god yes, yes, I'm going to — oh god, oh Mr Ca — YES yes yes —"

She was screaming softly. She clutched his arm and twisted the sheets with her other hand, her thighs open for him. She arched and stretched and tensed against him, crying out, clenching around him in ecstasy.

Coming down from it, she caught his hand between her thighs, turning to him and fiercely wrapping her arms around him.

It was incredible. He'd never seen a woman come undone before.

He was terribly aroused, and he wondered what he should do.

To his surprise, she was not sleepy but energetic.

She wanted him. He looked at her in confusion. "But — it's so late. And you've already —"

She replied breathlessly, joyfully.

"Oh, yes. Well, sometimes a woman can get there more often."

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**a/n ho hum, charlie learns to please elsie. please let me know what you thought about it! MWAH**


	82. Chapter 82

**nsfw.**

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"Oh, yes. Well, sometimes a woman can get there more often."

He looked at her in in astonishment. Wondering how she'd learned that. But now was not the time to ask how she knew such a thing.

He was still cupping her sex, his hand trapped between her thighs. When he slipped a finger in between her lips, she gasped and arched against his touch.

Everything was so new.

He loved her sounds. Her intoxicating scent. The slide of his fingertips against the intricacies of her sex.

"Yes — Oh my yes please, yes —"

He looked at her seriously, unsure whether she was giving him permission or asking for more of the same.

"What do you need, love? I don't know what to —"

She opened her legs, freeing his hand. He couldn't resist touching her more. It's not that he forgot his own arousal, no. But touching her so intimately was a great pleasure in itself.

"Ahhh — softer, please? — erm, lighter." At his worried look, she continued, a bit breathlessly. "You didn't hurt me. It was just a little bit — too much, after..."

He nodded. He didn't really understand, but he wanted to spare her the embarrassment of explaining.

She reached for him and tugged him impatiently down to her for a kiss. And _what_ a kiss. Tongues meeting, unafraid, seeking dominance. Giving and taking.

_God_, her hand running over his chest as they kissed. Light touches on his shoulders, his collarbone. Her fingers trailing across his nipple made him gasp in surprise and pleasure. Liking his response, she did it again and again.

She turned on her back and gently pulled him with her. He landed between her thighs.

She encouraged him, rolling her hips up to meet him.

His tip rested heavy against her. Her slight movement spurred him on and he pushed into her with one long stroke.

She cried out her pleasure at his thickness, his hardness. She felt stretched, filled, and it was all glorious, because she had been so very ready.

He was beginning to understand that none of this was hurting her; that she was _enjoying_ it.

They began a steady, slow rhythm punctuated by their vocalizations — timid at first, but growing bolder with time and the realization that they no longer shared walls with anyone.

They sped up and she matched him thrust for thrust , stroking herself at the same time. When he saw what she was doing, he almost came undone right then. But he held on, just barely, until she was arching and moaning and she cried out and then he could actually _feel_ what was happening inside her.

Her sex tightening and releasing, pushing and pulling at him — and he could not hold back anymore. With a guttural moan he started to pound into her.

Her eyes flew wide open — it was surprising, shocking; it was _almost_ too much — and she cried out with each thrust. He worried again about hurting her but suddenly she was not only crying out but _speaking, __good god —_ telling him yes, commanding him not to stop.

She was urging him on; after the initial shock it felt so _good_ and she couldn't curb her wanton words, didn't want to keep quiet anymore. His _hardness_, so insistent, so rough now — and she loved it. _Loved _it — she'd never imagined this in her fantasies — but _god, _it was so _good _with him slamming into her. His thrusts and her fingers pushed her over the edge.

Her pleasure was the final piece of the puzzle. His shame fled before the knowledge that she _wanted_ him. He roared his release and then they fell side by side, kissing, catching their breath and then, finally, falling asleep together.

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**a/n: how you doing, darling? please do drop me a line. xoxo**

All the thanks to kouw for telling me to go to sleep when I was writing the crappeh things.


	83. Chapter 83

It was too quiet. Birds chirping. Somewhere, the tiny clink of a single teacup on a saucer.

A soft mattress. Waking up naked for the first time in — _ever_.

He opened his eyes.

She was gone, but he could smell her. The scent of coconut, and — and _sex._

— Good god — her mouth, her body, her sex squeezing him, her legs around him, her _voice_ and those bold wanton words —

_Such thoughts in broad daylight. Not that it's stopped you thinking like that before, Charlie._

He found his dressing gown and made his way to their kitchen.

Sunlight caught in the steam from her teacup. Her braided hair.

She looked up at him from her novel — she'd finished _Dracula_ and found some other horrifying tale — and smiled.

His heart skipped a beat.

He stood staring at his wife, wanting to rush to her, gather her in his arms, all soft and warm in her dressing gown. Looking more closely, he realized she had nothing on underneath. He tried to steady his breath.

She held out her hand to him and he joined her at the table, his chair right next to hers.

She offered him a sip of tea from her cup and he took it after only a moment's hesitation.

She watched his lips as he sipped, his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"You got up early," he said softly.

"I didn't want to wake you."

_How is she so calm?_

"Did you sleep well, Mrs Hughes?"

"I did, love. I wonder…"

A pause. He waited.

"What if we were to call one another by our Christian names? We _are_ married, after all, and now, after — erm —"

She blushed. He was a little flustered too, and to save them both from trying to articulate it, he hurried to answer her.

"I think it will take some getting used to, but I will try, erm. Elsie."

Her eyes closed as his voice caressed her own most private name.

"Please… say it again," she breathed.

"Elsie?"

"Thank you, Charlie."

His eyebrows flew up.

She opened her eyes and grinned at him, one eyebrow raised. "Too informal, Mr Carson?"

"No, it seems about right, my Elsie, for how you like to torment me."

And at that he leaned in and stole a kiss, slow and sweet.

She kissed him back, reaching up to touch his stubble.

His one hand rested at the back of her head, his fingers slipping into her hair. The other trailed gentle fingertips over her ear and down the side of her neck. So slowly she thought she could burst, he teased open her dressing gown and slid his hand inside, cupping and caressing her naked breast.

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**a/n: how you doin? drop me a line, please; i looove your reviews! xoxo**

many thanks to kouw for everything!


	84. Chapter 84

nsfw, yadda yadda

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_His one hand rested at the back of her head, his fingers slipping into her hair. The other trailed gentle fingertips over her ear and down the side of her neck. So slowly she thought she could burst, he teased open her dressing gown and slid his hand inside, cupping and caressing her naked breast._

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His hands, luxurious — as sensual as the slow movements of their lips and tongues.

She moaned and arched into his hand that was now rolling her nipple, kneading her breast.

Her other hand moved down his front. Slowly. Purposefully.

She reached his belt and pulled. Opening up his dressing down, she trailed lazy fingers along his thighs.

They kissed and pushed and caressed one another. Slowly becoming breathless, not touching the places that most longed for it.

She pressed his hand to her breast and broke their kiss to straddle him. She gasped in recognition, thrilling at the way his body pushed her thighs apart.

Her shaky inhalation as he slipped the robe from her shoulders. He sucked her nipple —

— god, the _taste_ of her, the intoxicating reality of her breast in his _mouth_, and the little moans she was making as she writhed against him —

He slowly became aware that he was restricting her movements. His arm tight around her waist held down her robe, which held back her elbows. He paused for an instant, thinking he should release her, but she changed his mind.

"Oh Charlie, so good…" Her moan trailed off into breathless gasps because she was deliciously immobilized as his mouth inflicted incredible pleasure on her.

He stood up, taking her with him. Her arms were around his shoulders, her legs tight around his hips. Her mouth on his, kissing him furiously.

In their room, he all but threw her on the bed, following as she moved backward with a grin, her legs open, ready for him.

"My God, Elsie, you're so beautiful." _Beautiful doesn't begin to describe her, Charlie._ But he had no other words for the way she responded to his touch. The fact that she _wanted_, even though everything they'd been taught said that women didn't — weren't _supposed_ to want.

"I'm all yours, my man."

Astonished and yet glad for her forwardness, he dropped his head to her knee, kissed his way up her inner thigh, and moved up her body to take her other nipple into his mouth.

Her breathless gasps as his fingers stroked her, finding her wet and ready.

She stilled his hand.

"And I want you to take me."

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**a/n hi! how's it going? xoxo**

thanks always to kouw!


	85. Chapter 85

nsfw, ho hum...

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He watched, delighted at her responses to his touch.

Absently, he wrapped his other hand around his cock, moving slowly up and down.

The sight of him with one hand on her and one on himself was thrilling in an entirely new way.

He followed her eyes to his hand.

Mortified, he stopped. She looked at him in frustration, then understanding. She leaned up on one elbow and reached for him, drawing him down to her. She kissed him deeply. Whispered against his mouth.

"Don't stop… I _liked_ it."

"What?" He was incredulous.

She bit her lip, nodding, wondering if it was _normal_. Suddenly she decided she didn't care whether or not it was normal.

She leaned back again, moaning happily as he began to move both hands again.

Knowing she was watching him made it very different for him. Uncomfortable, but exciting.

Her hands found their way to her breasts. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her hands. She smiled and kept at it.

He spread his fingers flat against her, lightly caressing, sliding. Sighing, moaning, gasping, she wrapped that lilting brogue around his name over and over.

She reached down to wrap her hand around him, trying to guide him. He was ready, and he pushed into her with a long stroke and a deep groan.

She took him in, held him there with her strong legs.

"Just — don't move, my love. For a moment."

He stayed still.

"Now, slowly, please."

And he pulled out, so slowly it was nearly unbearable for both of them. Almost all the way out, he paused.

He was lingering because he didn't know what to do next.

But their bodies surprised them.

The thick heavy tip of him, just inside, made her thrust up against him. Trembling, wanting to take him in further but frantically enjoying this.

Her _cunt_ — so tight around his sensitive head.

He hovered, moving in and out, shallow and intense. Soon she felt her climax approaching and she was actually _begging_ him —

"Oh my god yes, just like that, please don't stop, don't stop —"

So he teased her, moving shallow shallow shallow and then one deep stroke. Then shallow again, and the same. She was falling apart beneath him, around him, and she started to tremble. Gathering her courage, she touched herself, so lightly at first that it was almost unbearable.

The sight of her sent him over the edge and he spilled himself inside her with a great roar.

She held him close before he could pull out.

"Stay _here_, my man, stay in me. _Stay_ with me."

And he wrapped his arms around her, their torsos pressed together. He moved slowly within her and she managed to touch herself with them so close and it was so _good_ and before long she was clenching around him, whispering the screams of her ecstasy.

They fell together, kissing.

And with the midmorning sun shining through their windows, they lay in a tangle of arms and legs. Spent and happy, she fell asleep.

He lay awake for a moment.

Something about the way she'd lay spread open for him had looked familiar. Some image from long ago.

He fell asleep. Straight into a dream where her scent surrounded him and his mouth was _right there_ on her.

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a/n ermahgerd, you guize, downton day is upon us!1!1leventy!

thanks kouw for beta magic!


	86. Chapter 86

ermahgerd, happy downton day! two hours as of posting this! squeeeeee  
i intended to have this done before today, but the goobers still have a little ways to go...

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Slowly waking together. Her head on the pillow, her arm across his chest, his hand over hers.

Her leg over his.

She broke away for a full-body stretch. He followed suit.

"Hello, Charlie."

He chuckled. "Hello, Elsie."

She curled up to him again and he turned to her, wrapping her in his arms.

He wound the end of her braid around his finger and passed it over his lips, sighing happily. Then he pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

"I love your hair like this."

"Mmmmmmm. Are you getting sentimental, Mr Carson?"

She'd meant it flirtatiously. When she felt his body stiffen, she bit her lip.

_Shite, now he's going to back away._

He was wounded, but only because of his own words.

"Mrs Hughes —ah, Elsie. I — I know I'm often a bit — difficult."

A smile in her voice. "Sometimes, yes."

"I need to apologize."

She waited. Her head was still tucked under his chin, her arm wrapped around his middle.

"When I was holding Miss Sybil and I told you not to get sentimental..."

"Yes," she sighed, "that was rather awful, my man."

"I know. Did you _know_ then?"

"DId I know what?"

"That I loved you."

"I had some idea, but I could never be sure."

"I didn't know yet at the time." He paused. "I'm sorry." He drew back to look at her, pained.

She looked up at him. With one hand she smoothed back his hair and drew him down for a kiss.

"You're forgiven." She smiled against his mouth and felt him relax. "Just don't do it again."

He chuckled. "I don't deserve you, my love."

"No, you don't."

At his horrified look, she grinned, wrinkling her nose, tightening her arm and leg around him. "I'm joking, Charlie. But thank you for your apology."

She shifted to bury her nose in his neck.

"I suppose we should get up."

"I suppose," he responded.

"It's probably teatime."

"Perhaps."

His yawn was contagious.

"Are you hungry?" Her sleepy brogue, close to his ear.

"No. Are you?"

"Not especially."

So they stayed in bed, sleeping the afternoon away.

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**a/n: such GOOBERS they are. ugh, i can't believe we get to see them on screen again in such a short tiiime. do drop me a line if you have a minute! pretty please and many thanks! **

** xoxoxo**


	87. Chapter 87

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When she woke, the sun was low in the summer sky. She had the impression that they were sleeping off a lifetime of overwork in one day.

He was snoring lightly, his chest to her back. She sighed and pulled his arm tighter around her, placing his warm hand over her breast.

For one surreal instant he sounded as if he were fully awake, telling someone to serve tea to Master George and Isis in the library.

_Oh, my lovely man, you're going to have to get used to retirement._

She smiled as he went back to snoring, then she turned in his arms and kissed his lips, waking him.

Half a second of utter confusion gave way to delight and he hummed contentedly as he held her even closer.

"Charlie…" He smiled at the sound of his name in her mouth. "Are you hungry?"

He hummed again and nodded against her head. They slowly got up, putting on the dressing gowns that had pooled on the floor.

In the kitchen they had a little meal of sandwiches and tea.

Afterward, he eyed the bottle of scotch.

"Mrs —Elsie."

She smiled, biting her lip at this adorable man and his gentle evolution. She didn't even _try_ to resist the urge to tease him.

"Yes, _Mr_ Charlie?"

A small smile from under prodigious eyebrows.

"You wicked thing. I was going to suggest scotch and chocolate, but perhaps you'd like to mock a poor old fool instead?"

"Let's have it in bed."

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**a/n: drop me a line, daaaarliiing... plz thx**


	88. Chapter 88

**NSFW.**. F'REAL

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_"You wicked thing. I was going to suggest scotch and chocolate, but perhaps you'd like to mock a poor old fool instead?"_

_"Let's have it in bed."_

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Of course a small piece of chocolate fell on her as they lay facing one another, propped up on pillows.

He boldly dipped his head to her breast, nipping and sucking the rapidly melting chocolate from her skin. She held his head there, guiding him to her nipple.

She took his hand and licked the melted sweet from his fingertips. His fingers pushing into her mouth, he groaned, sucking harder at her nipple. She involuntarily pushed her hips against him and he moved to her other breast.

His hand drifted down her back to cup and caress her bum, then came around to her sex.

He stroked her for a moment, then slid two fingers into her. Deep inside, he experimentally curved his fingers in a particular way.

Several things happened at once then.

She gripped his other hand tightly, yanking his fingers from her mouth as she gasped out loud, shuddering, arching against him.

With the other hand she clutched at his head, pressing it harder against her breast and inadvertently pulling his hair. He groaned at the unexpected pleasure of that slight pain and kept pressing and sliding against that spot inside her, marvelling at her frantic movements, her undulating body.

Her vocalizations escalated and she tried to touch herself, but his broad body over her meant that she could not reach. He caught her hand, pinning it against the bed over her head. He was _everywhere_ except her clitoris and she was going positively insane as his insistent touch drove her higher and higher.

Her whole body trembled and she pulled his hair deliberately now, trying to get him away so she could touch herself, but he only shifted to the other breast and continued moving inside her.

After several more minutes of the most exquisite torment, he released her hand, using his elbow to brace himself on the bed instead.

But her hand did not fly down to touch herself — it landed on his shoulder instead, digging her nails into his skin. He groaned out loud, his mouth still on her breast.

She was practically _singing_ in her pleasure, cooing, all in wonder; she'd never known this was possible, and the closest thing she'd had so far— the hairbrush handle — was _nothing_ like the long and nimble fingers of her husband moving within her.

The memory of those agonizing moments of concealment only pushed her higher now.

He was pulsing against her and he was _not stopping_ and she didn't even feel like touching herself at this point. She came undone slowly, loudly_, _intensely.

It went on and on with trembling and clutching and keening and she fell back on the pillow, her arm thrown over her forehead as her rapid breathing continued.

He smiled, gently curving his fingers inside her to make her clutch his shoulders and curl into him with a sharp inhalation. She swatted lightly at him, laughing helplessly, moaning with each teasing movement.

After a few moments, she said breathlessly, "Stop, Charlie — it's too much."

He did, holding still inside her until she touched his hand, silently telling him to pull out. He did so, slowly, and she shivered.

They lay still together for several minutes, her blissfully catching her breath. He was slightly nervous, wondering what to do next until she turned to him, claiming his mouth in a slow and demanding kiss.

He was stunned for half a second by her kiss, but then he was right there with her, his hands hurrying to grasp and pull her close, and she was reaching down to wrap gentle fingers around him. He jerked as she made contact, but she pulled him over her and guided him into her.

When he was buried inside her, he made a sound akin to the one he'd made at the seaside. She smiled to hear it, then pushed her hips down into the mattress to thrust back up against him. His eyes widened at her movements and she drew him down to her for another bruising kiss.

He started to move within her, slow but strong.

Remembering those frantic moments with the hairbrush again, she recalled the way she'd forced her inner muscles to relax. Figuring that she could also make them contract, she did so, pushing and pulling counter to his thrusts.

Her efforts were rewarded when he let out a groan and began to slam hard into her, her affirmations in his ears.

She did touch herself now, and just after he came undone — stiffening against her, roaring his climax — so did she.

They collapsed together, covering one another with kisses until they grew sleepy.

They lay with his head cradled between her breasts, his arm around her waist, and their legs tangled together, and fell asleep.

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a/n:** tell me your thoughts, your feels, your splosions. (I hope you had splosions.)**

**Spoiler alert: This is pretty much what happened in s5x01.*  
*That is a lie.**

thanks everyone for your reviews! thanks kouw for being the bestest beta evar. any typos in this chapter are all mine, tho.


	89. Chapter 89

happy birthday to meeee!

So, this thing just came flying out of my head. I hope you enjoy it!

**NSFW**.

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Glorious late-summer days. Picnics in their little garden, the occasional tea in the Servants' Hall with Mrs Patmore.

Sometimes they made love in the mornings, waking up to one another's touch.

Sometimes they woke hungry in the middle of the night and ate cheese and bread with wine at their kitchen table. Sometimes she rested her feet on his.

He watched her reflection as she brushed her hair. It was getting less difficult for her to handle the brush in his presence, but the memory remained. He saw her blush and smiled, came near to plant a kiss on her cheek and then left her in peace.

He wondered if she would teach him to braid it.

He grew bolder, coming up from behind to kiss her neck at the sink. Savoring her as she melted against him as far as her corset would allow.

One evening as she washed the dishes and he dried, he playfully wrapped the clean cloth around her eyes, tying it loosely. She laughed. Then he spun her around to him and held her tightly as she reached blindly for his head with a smile. He thrust his knee between her thighs, pinning her against the counter.

He lived for her sounds of surprised arousal. She pulled him to her for a scorching kiss.

Then he picked her up roughly and put her on the counter, standing between her thighs as her skirt hitched up. She pulled it up the rest of the way and went to remove the blindfold.

He caught her hands and she gasped, a little laugh. He only hesitated for a moment — worried about hurting her, disrespecting her, then deciding she would let him know if she liked it — before catching both of her hands in one of his and holding them at the small of her back.

"Yes…" she managed as his free hand ran up her thigh, his fingers finding the slit in her knickers.

His light touch on her sex. His firm hold on her hands. His body pushing her thighs apart.

When she started to tremble, he released her hands and she took the cloth from her eyes, dropping it on the floor.

He took his hand away.

"No…" she breathed. _Don't stop, come back_. She knew he would.

He was worried. "No? Oh my god, Elsie, I'm so sorry —"

A little laugh. A quick hard kiss. Breathlessly, "I meant no, don't _stop_, my man."

Relief. His forehead against hers for an instant. Her swift intake of breath as his fingers found their way back to her wet heat.

"I want you. Right now." She punctuated her words by undoing his trousers.

He made to help her off the counter, but she stopped his hands at her waist.

"No, I want you _here_."

His eyes wide. His mouth open. He helped her with the trousers and she guided him and he pushed into her.

Guttural moans. The slow in and out, thick hardness filling her — slick tight heat around him —

The sight of her hand on herself was unspeakably erotic. Tonight her hand was hidden. Urgent, invisible under her knickers. He imagined what her fingers were doing.

_Sometime I must ask her how she learned to do that_. A mad thought. He shook his head inwardly. Secretly he hoped they could talk about it someday.

Thrusting together, faster and faster. Her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, his mouth at her neck.

Her moans, breathless, higher and higher. Then tightness, her inner muscles clenching and releasing around him, her cries filling the kitchen, and he lost himself in a tangle of affirmations and profanity, spilling his seed inside her.

He was mortified at his shocking words. He was aware of having growled something along the lines of _oh god woman oh fuck yes_.

* * *

.

**a/n: so, how's it going? drop me a line, please, bebe. i rabidly check my emails for reviews because i love to hear from you!**

thanks as always to kouw! but all the typos here are my fault, not hers.


	90. Chapter 90

still NSFW. still happy birthday to meeeee... :D

oh charlie, your big mouth...

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* * *

He was mortified at his shocking words. He was aware of having growled something along the lines of_ oh god woman oh fuck yes._

With one hand braced against the counter, he clapped the other over his mouth. He was horrified at himself even as he was spilling inside her, thrusting madly two, three more times.

She whipped her head up to stare at him, breathing hard, right in the middle of her climax and those _words _— her mouth was open, her eyes wide, blinking once, twice — he said those _words _and it was appalling, it was incredible, it was intimate and strange and she didn't know what to think_._

She looked shocked… and something else. He could barely meet her eyes.

_Does she actually look _— _amused?_

It wasn't amusement, exactly. She _was_ shocked. A little nervous, which translated into a hint of a smile that he read as amusement. She was — _intrigued._

"Mr Ca — Charlie —" Coming down, she was still breathless, but she needed to speak, somehow — put words to this, because _those_ words were so obscene. _Obscene and _— she could barely think it; it was so shocking — _exciting._

"My god, I'm so sorry," he groaned into his hand.

He tried to pull out, pull away from her, hide his face.

With a short moan, she shook her head. _No no no, do not run away, not now._

Reflexively, she tightened her legs around him, roughly pulling him close. The resulting movement inside her made her gasp, close her eyes, and clutch at his arm.

By now he'd learned to recognize her pleasure. Normally he delighted in her sounds, her uncontrolled movements.

Irrational in his shame, he had the misguided impression that his filthy words had made his body repulsive to her, transforming her pleasure into suffering.

His hand left his mouth and landed on her hip, trying to push off.

"Wha — let me _go_ — I'm so sorry —"

She loosened her grip on his arm, but held on with her legs. "No — please stay. Don't — don't pull —"

She bit her lip, sighed, cursed the difficulty of talking about it. Taking a deep breath, she managed: "I want you to stay where you are. _Please_."

* * *

.

a/n: i want to know your thoughts and feeeeels. xoxo


	91. Chapter 91

still NSFW...

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* * *

Her pleading tone confused him and he stopped trying to pull away.

He was still inside her, his seed slowly dribbling out into her knickers.

He couldn't have known she was rather enjoying the sensation. He felt disgusting for doing this to her — the normal, natural evidence of their passion seemed dirty to him in light of his words.

He frowned, unable to reconcile his embarrassment with the pressure of her heels against his bum and her gentle fingertips at his cheek.

— _oh god, her fingers smell like her, they smell like her_ —

Her eyes looked desperate as she begged him to stay.

He turned to kiss her palm, then inclined his face into it.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

A pause.

"For your words?"

He nodded, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

She was giving him that _look_ that made him melt, her gentle _don't be daft_ look.

"Come here, my man." And she pulled at him, kissed him tenderly.

His heart skipped a beat. They kissed for a moment, then he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, wanting to get down.

He pulled out — _slowly_; she had taught him that — and then rushed to help her to the floor. He did up his trousers and she shook out her skirt.

He wanted to help her, to clean his mess from her, but he had nothing. He started to leave for the bathroom —

"Where are you going, love?" Her _voice_ — so soft as she reached for his hand.

"A cloth for you —"

"Och, my man. Don't trouble yourself with it just now."

"Hmmm." He sounded uncertain, but let her take both his hands in hers.

She made a decision about how to proceed.

Then she wrapped her arms around his middle. "I love you, you know."

"I — I love you too."

"And you know I'm yours. Forever." She backed away to look up at him, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised. She was serious, but she still had to bite back the hint of a smile.

He relaxed a little more, nodding.

Then she spoke softly. "Well... I think I'll go have a hot bath."

He nodded, ready to let her go, to wait his turn. He started to turn away.

"We have a large tub."

He whipped his head back, looking at her wide-eyed. Confusion on his face.

_Darling man, you don't presume anything, do you? Poor dear._

"You can come with me."

"I — Elsie, I —"

"Don't you want to?"

He admonished himself: _Close your mouth, old man. _He forced himself to speak.

"I — yes. I do."

She bit her lip and gathered her courage, then smiled fully, wrinkling her nose, her eyes sparkling.

She was a patient person as a rule, but she could hardly wait to see how he would react to her next barb.

"Good. Then we can talk all about your filthy mouth."

* * *

.

**the nippy sweetie strikes again! please let me know all about your thoughts and feels. i looooove your reviews! thaaank youoou! xoxoox**


	92. Chapter 92

probably nsfw as usual

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* * *

She bit her lip and gathered her courage, then smiled fully, wrinkling her nose, her eyes sparkling.

"Good. Then we can talk all about your filthy mouth."

His jaw dropped.

A mischievous smile as she reached up, drew her fingertips over his cheek, brushed her thumb over his lower lip. He tried to capture her thumb in his mouth but she was gone.

The tub was enormous. _I don't know how Mr Branson managed it but I will have to thank him_ — and she blushed, shaking her head at herself. She could _never. _That conversation would be excruciating.

He still stood in the kitchen, trying to reconcile that infectious smile with her strange words.

"Mr Carson? Are you coming?"

"Er — yes."

And he turned, went to their bedroom.

He wondered how to go about — well — _this._ A bath. With _her_.

He decided to take off his clothing and put on his dressing gown.

Barefoot and self-conscious, he stood in the bathroom doorway. She was facing away from him, naked except for her shift.

She bent over to turn off the faucet. The fabric went taut around her hips and her round bottom and he sucked in air through his teeth.

She heard him, but let him wait a moment longer.

Her hand reached up to rest on the nape of her neck, then her fingers trailed slowly down to her collarbone. She thought of those words. She thought of the previously forbidden things that their married state allowed them.

He was captivated.

She turned then, finding him helpless in the doorway. Looking guilty, even.

She wanted to repeat his dirty words.

First she had to assuage his fears.

He stared at her nipples through the thin fabric, then looked at the floor.

"Hello, you." A smile in her voice.

She held her hand out to him and he came to her.

His heart pounded.

Her beckoning look. Her strong hands as they — _so slowly_ — untied his belt and unwrapped his body.

_Oh my man, you don't know how beautiful you are._

She pushed the robe off his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor.

"Words can be so powerful, don't you think?" she began softly. She watched her hands caressing his shoulders, his chest. His breath caught whenever her light touch glanced across his nipples. Her eyes flicked upward. His eyes were closed and he looked torn between agony and bliss.

_How delicious he is like this_.

Still, she didn't wish to extend his suffering much longer.

She brought her hands up to either side of his face and looked at him until he opened his eyes. Her face showed arousal combined with nerves and tenderness, but it was unreadable to him when his anxiety forced him to focus inward.

He tried to speak.

"I — I suppose. Of course." He swallowed. "Of course they are." He spoke quietly, his almost calm tone belying his rapidly beating heart. Her gentle fingertips could feel the pulse in his neck.

She backed away from him and pulled the shift over her head, letting it fall onto his dressing gown.

* * *

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**a/n your reviews give my typing fingers life! thank you, and please drop me a line about this one; I'd love to know what you think. MWAH**


	93. Chapter 93

tralala nsfw.

Bathtime...

.

* * *

She looked stunning.

Flushed from the heat. Biting her lip.

Tenderness and desire in her eyes as she settled in and beckoned him to join her.

She had left her hair pinned to keep it out of the water.

The steam had already caused a few tendrils to curl against her neck.

She leaned her head back and watched him.

He carefully stepped in, turning to sit across from her.

"Won't you come sit here? With me?"

"But — I would crush you."

"You won't. I'm made of stern stuff."

Her little smile, her loving hands reaching for him.

He managed it, half-reclining, relaxing into her.

His delicious weight. His broad body between her legs.

Her one arm lay across his chest. Her other hand rested on his head, holding him gently against her breast.

Turning his head, he could hear her heartbeat.

She touched his face, bending to kiss the top of his head.

Blindly, she felt his furrowed brow. Her gentle fingers wanted to smooth it out.

"You're worried."

He tensed, then nodded slightly.

"About your words?" she asked him gently.

He nodded again.

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment. _Be brave, Els. You can do this._

"About your filthy mouth."

_The smile in her voice. _He hesitated. _What is she doing to me?_

She let her hand drift over him, caressing his shoulders.

She spoke low in his ear.

"Such indecency, Mr Carson. And coming from _you,_ no less."

Under her teasing tone he could hear her thudding heart. It was both overwhelming and oddly reassuring.

She was running her hand over his chest, stroking his shoulder, lingering on his nipples.

She hadn't known quite how to have this conversation. But the heat, his body so intimately close to her, and her determination made her bold.

"From the _butler_."

He groaned a response.

"And right during —" she faltered. "Right while I was… erm. And so were you."

He made a strangled sound, relishing her touch and his inability to move. Physically he could have pushed away, of course, got up and left. But she had him so wondrously surrounded. She draped one leg around his middle and he grasped her ankle.

"Do you know what you said?"

Adrenaline rushed through him. He shook his head. He'd been overcome, and he had only a vague recollection of the profanities pouring from his mouth.

"You said a fair few things..."

He shuddered.

Her heart pounding against his ear, she whispered it. She was exhilarated as the words left her mouth, irretrievably flying out into the open. The risk was glorious.

"You said you wanted to… to _fuck_ me."

He gasped. He was suddenly, dizzyingly hard.

Her voice was so soft, so intimate in his ear.

She grew a bit bolder.

"You want to _fuck_ me, Charlie, is that it?"

* * *

**a/n: drop me a line, bbe. thx kouw xoxo**


	94. Chapter 94

nsfw. thank you kouw; you are endlessly fabulous.

.

* * *

"You said you wanted to… to _fuck_ me."

He gasped. He was suddenly, dizzyingly hard.

She grew a bit bolder. Her voice was silk, caressing his ear.

"You want to _fuck_ me, Charlie, is that it?"

The water splashed violently as he jerked upward and away, twisting to stare at her. Searching her eyes for any hint of — mockery? Anger? Disgust?

To her, his reaction was very sudden.

For him it had been building up since he'd first let loose with those profanities. He had to break out of whatever game she was playing and know where they stood.

Startled, she stared back at him. His face was astonishingly open, but she misread his confusion as rejection.

"Elsie…" His voice was barely a whisper. "What are you _doing_?"

"Ch- Charles…" Her voice wavered. Her eyes started to fill with tears.

He cursed himself.

"Oh no, no, my love, don't — don't cry, please. I love you, don't —"

She looked down, covering her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as her tears fell.

"Elsie —oh god — I'm so sorry. I — that was — that was _incredible_."

She looked up. "What?"

He rested an elbow on the tub and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

"Mrs Hu—" He stopped, smiling a little, shaking his head at himself. "It's an old habit, darling. _Elsie_."

She bit her lip. She looked terribly alluring to him — he desperately wanted to kiss her but he doubted she would want that just now.

"Charles."

He grinned then. "It's alright if you call me Charlie."

A watery smile. "Charlie, then."

"Elsie. I thought you were disgusted. I thought you were mocking me."

She shook her head. "Never, Charles. _Charlie_. I would never mock you." She took a deep breath. Her eyes flicked down to his erection, then back up.

He leaned his head toward her. Mischievous eyes, a half-smile, one raised eyebrow.

She laughed then, shakily. "Well, I might tease you on occasion."

He smiled, wiping her tears away and leaning in to kiss her pretty mouth.

She gave a little moan as he tugged gently at her lip.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered. "I would love to hear you say those things again."

She shuddered, still a little off-kilter but feeling bolder. She took a deep breath.

"What things, Charlie?" The smile was back in her voice.

"You _sorceress_, you know what I mean — "

And she smiled, leaning back, pulling him back to her. She welcomed him as he lay with his head on her breast.

She wrapped herself around her big man, savoring his warm weight on her. Her leg around his middle, her arm across his chest. Her hand caressing his cheek — until he trapped a finger, sucking it into his mouth.

She gasped, then in breathless whisper, she said it. All at once, before she could lose her nerve.

"Charlie…. I want you to _fuck_ me."

_Her voice, her brogue _—

"Oh god _yes.._." His response pushed her further.

"I want you inside me. Your thick, hard —"

_Damn it, what's the right word? _She squeezed his shoulder and spoke softly into his ear.

"Say it, Charlie."

"Cock," he supplied with a shudder. His hand under water wrapped itself around it.

It was all both terrifying and erotic for her as well as him. She pressed on.

"Your _cock._ I want you to fill me with it."

She watched his hand move up and down.

"Do you want that too, Charlie?"

"Good god, woman, what you do to me —"

"Your cock deep inside me. In my… my what?"

He hesitated, not wanting to offend her.

"Say it, Charlie. What do you call it in your mind?"

"In your — in your c- c- your _cunt _—" He'd never stammered in his life, but there it was.

She was reeling. Arousal made her squeeze her legs around him.

She bent down so that her mouth was level with his ear.

"You wicked, wanton man."

* * *

.

a/n **how you doing, baybee? mwah**


	95. Chapter 95

bathtime continues...nsfw of course

.

* * *

"Say it, Charlie. What do you call it in your mind?"

"In your — in your c- c- your _cunt _—" He'd never stammered in his life, but there it was.

Arousal made her exhale rapidly and squeeze her legs around him.

She bent down so that her mouth was level with his ear.

"You wicked, wanton man."

He groaned, unable to speak.

Her hot breath. Her lips teeth tongue nibbling his ear.

She relished it — touching him in places she normally couldn't reach.

If she had really tried, she would have been able to touch herself.

But she wanted to watch _him_ fall apart.

He was doubly overcome — by her words themselves, and by the thought of her _mouth_ making those sounds. The rolled _r._ Her lips closing on an _m_. The curl of her tongue to form his name.

"I love it when you're inside me, Charlie. I _love_ it."

He groaned, his hand pumping.

"Do you want to know why?"

"Yes, yes —"

"Because you fill me so entirely."

"Oh my _god_, woman —"

"You thrust _in_ and _out_ and it feels so _f —"_ she took a breath. Adrenaline rushed through her at her own words — "so _fucking _good."

"Oh _Christ, _Elsie, your _mouth_ —"

He was breathing hard, his hand moving faster.

A crazy idea started to form in her mind.

"Or when you're inside me just a little bit —"

He was almost there.

"And you move back and forth — in and out —"

The idea started to take shape. She wondered if she could do it.

"God, yes —" He was breathless.

"And then you're deep inside me —"

"F- fuck _me_, yes, yes —" His profanities spurred her on.

"And I can't help but make noises —"

She wondered how he would react if she did it. She hoped he wouldn't think she wanted to silence him. _Quite the contrary, my lovely man._

" — because you're so hard, so big, moving in and out of me —"

His whole body tensed and his hand started to move erratically.

" —and when you're inside me I never want you to leave —"

Just as he started to groan his climax, she clapped her hand over his mouth.

His groan turned into a roar and he bit down on her palm.

It hurt, but not much. She curled around his body, releasing his mouth, holding on tight with her legs and fiercely whispering words of love and desire.

He had come onto his own belly. She reached for a flannel and cleaned it from his body. His hand covered hers.

"Oh my _god_, Elsie — I never knew —"

To his further astonishment, she _giggled_.

"Neither did I, my man. Are you alright?" She was happy even as she trembled with arousal and nerves.

"God, yes — that was — you're —"

He needed to see her, to look into her eyes.

He sat up, suddenly sleepy.

"Elsie." Her eyes were intoxicating.

"Hello, my lovely man."

He leaned in and kissed her mouth. Her body arched up to meet him.

Supporting himself on the edge of the tub with one hand, he cupped her breast with the other.

Then his hand started to drift downward.

"Bed," she gasped as his fingers slid between her lips, opening her up.

* * *

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**a/n how's it going, darling?  
**thank you kouw!


	96. Chapter 96

He leaned in and kissed her mouth. Her body arched up to meet him.

Supporting himself on the edge of the tub with one hand, he cupped her breast with the other.

Then his hand started to drift downward.

"Bed," she gasped as his fingers slid between her lips, opening her up.

* * *

He kissed her deeply again, his touch light on her sex.

She moaned into their kiss, then gently pushed him away.

She watched him make quick work of drying himself and then she let him help her out of the tub.

When she reached for her towel, he stopped her hand with a grin. He held her wrist and kissed each of her fingertips before taking the towel himself and beginning to dry her. He followed the towel with kisses — across her collarbone, down her breast, briefly taking her nipple into his mouth.

She had to hold onto him to keep her balance.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his nose in her hair, lavishing kisses on her neck. He was rewarded with moans and whimpers, then she pushed him away and took his hand, letting her towel fall to the floor.

He stopped them, hanging her towel up for her. The caring gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Then he grasped her hand again and all but dragged her off to their room.

* * *

**just a little tease... sorry! i hope to be able to post more tonight!**


	97. Chapter 97

He stopped them, hanging her towel up for her. The caring gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Then he grasped her hand again and all but dragged her off to their room.

* * *

"Take your hair down." His _tone_, soft but commanding.

Her eyes widened.

"My, my, Mr Carson," she said breathlessly. "You're very authoritative."

But she did it, her hair falling in thick and shining waves halfway down her naked back. Standing behind her, he ran his hands over her body, slowing her progress somewhat when he roughly pulled her against him, both hands cupped and kneaded her breasts. Her glorious hair — he ran his fingers through it, brought handfuls to his face and inhaled the coconut scent of it.

A crazy idea occurred to him.

He was fairly certain she would like it, so he reached for his necktie on the dresser. He bound it around her eyes.

"Oh god, _yes _— Charlie, this is — _yes._"

"Look who can't form sentences now." A smile in his voice, low and quiet. His hot breath at her ear.

He kissed her hand and pulled her to their bed.

* * *

He lay on his side, supported on one elbow, head leaning on his hand.

She lay on her back next to him. Her hands flung over her head, she writhed under his touch.

He ran his hand along the full length of her body, then pulled her head to him. He kissed her, then retreated, leaving her reaching for him.

She arched up as he rolled her nipple. Full-throated moans as he drew it into his mouth and sucked deeply. Cold when he released her.

His hand landed at her hip and pushed. She turned onto her side.

* * *

Darkness and his touch. His hot mouth at her shoulder, his hands trailing over her skin..

She reached to touch herself and he caught her hand, brought it to his mouth, sucked at her fingers.

He pushed her hip again and she rolled onto her front, head turned to the side, eyes closed behind the black silk.

His large hands, hot against her skin, stroking up her back, landing in her hair. Rubbing her neck. Chills along her whole body.

He could easily have reached her sex, being so much taller.

But he wanted to draw it out. Make her beg.

So his hands roamed.

Her breath trembled. She was enjoying him being in charge.


	98. Chapter 98

His hands roamed.

Her trembling breath. She enjoyed him being in charge.

* * *

His touch was incredibly gentle. Those huge hands, caressing the contours of her body.

He tormented her. His hand on the skin of her inner thighs, her bum, but never her sex. She was wet, her heat radiating, and her _scent_ — how he loved her scent — was _everywhere_.

He wanted to tell her she was intoxicating. That he would like to wake and sleep in that scent.

_Someday_.

He hoped his confession wouldn't embarrass her.

She tried to arch into him, her legs spreading of their own accord.

He moved to kneel in between.

His hand, stroking her inner thigh. But he didn't touch her yet.

"Please, Charlie," she begged him.

"Please what?"

"Mmmmmm."

"You like this?" His voice, low and soft in her ear.

He leaned over her. Rested on his elbows. His hands slid under her and cupped her breasts.

* * *

Inescapable sensation as her own weight pressed her into his hands.

Every time he pinched her nipples, she whimpered more, her body curving inward. She tried to remember how to breathe.

His voice in her ear. His lips at her neck. His big body between her legs.

* * *

_Wide open. Exposed._

She _loved_ it.

His hands on her thighs, inching closer to her sex.

Shaking, she arched back to meet his hand.

Contact. Sliding, pressing.

Trembling changed to tense stillness, undulation, arching.

Her quiet, desperate moans turned loud, indulgent.

A light, playful smack on her bum. Her small scream. Instantly she began trembling.

"Do that again."

His relief, his soft laugh.

He did. The back of his hand against her bum as his fingers pushed and curled deep inside her.

She rose slightly, her thighs pushing inward against his. Enjoying the resistance.

He broke contact to reach around. Pulled her up on all fours, pressed her tightly against him.

She slipped off her blindfold and looked down.

His forearms held her in place. His fingers, pushing in, pulling out. The slow rhythm that she could actually _see_. His other hand sliding over her, gently circling her... _clitoris_. She actually mouthed the word. Smiled to herself.

She couldn't move.

His insistent touch, her erratic breathing.

The sight of his hands on her sex, invisible to him.

The heat and solidity of him over her, around her, in her.

She came, long and slow and intense.

He stilled his hands on her and they fell together, her back to his chest, his fingers still inside her.

Both were exhausted. Spent. Happy.

He pulled out, slowly. Then he sucked his fingers.

Realizing what he was doing, she gasped. Mortified.

* * *

**a/n** how you doing?

thank you kouw for beta magic!


	99. Chapter 99

**it's pretty much nsfw all the time.**

they've been sexing for 23 chapters. sure, they've been sleeping and going outside and eating and having tea and visiting the abbey and going to the village and everything too; that's just all offscreen.

good god, this is the same day as the kitchen countertop sex four thousand chapters ago. our beloved goobers are all worn out!

. . .

* * *

He stilled his hands on her and they fell together, her back to his chest, his fingers still inside her.

Both were exhausted. Spent. Happy.

He pulled out and sucked his fingers.

Realizing what he was doing, she gasped. Mortified.

* * *

Her heart pounding, she lay against him. Motionless. Tense.

It was a shock to her system.

The countertop. His unguarded words, his shame.

Wrapping herself around him in the hot water, pushing him. Profanity laced with tenderness.

Then maddening blind pleasure. The sight of his hands. The long hot rush and clench and ecstasy of her orgasm.

But now _this_.

Inexplicably, tears came to her eyes.

It was not sadness, of course. Not hurt, either.

Confusion. Embarrassment. She was flustered beyond belief.

* * *

He rose slightly on one elbow, smiling at the sound of her gasp.

His smile fell away instantly.

Her hands hid her face. He was crushed to see her pain.

"Mrs Hu — _Elsie,_ what's wrong?"

"Charlie, what — oh my god, you've — you've —" Her voice trembled.

It was one thing to enjoy her scent. She enjoyed it herself, if she were honest.

_But — he — what?_

Words tumbled out. Other words were stuck in their throats. Between their teeth.

"I've embarrassed you — "

"No, it's —"

"I didn't mean —"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly weary.

He'd done it impulsively, wanting to taste her.

He'd never imagined it would bother her. She'd been so wonderfully bold with him.

Ever since that first night when she'd shown herself to him, that image had haunted his dreams.

Of course now he understood exactly what that man was doing with his face right there.

_What was that picture called again?_

Something about _joies d'hiver. _

_Le dessert, _it was.

_Good god. It __would__ be French, wouldn't it._

He wondered if he could ever please her that way. If she'd allow it.

He pulled the covers over them, coming back to wrap himself around her again. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and she inhaled quickly.

"I love you."

"I love you too, my man."

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you.'

"It's — I don't know, I just never… thought of it…" Her soft voice, higher than usual. She felt both anxious and drained.

"Hmmm." His voice, deep and soothing. He sounded tired.

She couldn't have known that his hum also expressed his appreciation of her taste, her scent.

She didn't know what to say. His breathing grew deep and steady. His grip around her waist relaxed, his arm wonderfully heavy over her.

She was relieved at not having to speak of it any more.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, she drifted off.

* * *

...

**a/n hello there. how are you doing, darling?**

**many thanks to kouw for beta fabulousness.**


	100. Chapter 100

Dreams of tasting her. His mouth on her heat. Burying his face in her scent. His tongue and lips sliding against that smooth skin.

He hoped she'd let him someday.

He woke up alone, his hand around his erection. He recalled how he'd embarrassed her.

_Fuck_.

* * *

He emerged from the bathroom, finding her in the kitchen with tea and toast.

His heart leapt at the sight of her. Loosely braided hair. Nightgown and dressing gown.

Her beautiful sleepy man. She took in his mussed hair, his gentle expression.

"Good morning, my Elsie." His marvelous voice caressed the words.

He rested his hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

"Good morning, my man." Her smile concealed her anxiety. Mostly.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her softly.

After only an instant of hesitation, she kissed him back, her hand reaching up to rest lightly on the back of his neck.

Three wonderful weeks of marriage, and now _this._

* * *

Days passed.

Things got a little better, of course: it wasn't as if they didn't still crave one another.

He tried to catalogue what she liked. He would replicate it with his mouth when they finally —

_If__, old man. If, not when._

* * *

A leisurely walk to the Abbey, her hand tucked into his elbow.

They took tea with Mrs Patmore in the Servants' Hall.

Easy conversation. They spoke of Daisy, of Anna. Of the new recipes and the changes upstairs.

Happier of their retirement than ever, they took their leave.

They walked the longer way home, enjoying the Yorkshire scenery. Both were rather lost in their thoughts.

His tongue curled behind his teeth, against the roof of his mouth. Invisible movement. Involuntary imitation of what he wanted to do.

He bit his tongue to still it when he realized.

He _had_ to ask her. _Soon_.

* * *

They walked.

"Mrs Hughes, I wonder…"

She looked up at him sharply, worry in her eyes that he misread as irritation.

He paused, puzzling out the reason for her expression, then caught it. "_Elsie."_

A bit shakily, she responded: "Charlie?"

He paused.

"Never mind."

He scolded himself.

_Coward._

* * *

**a/n** **give me your wrath, your tension, your happy feels and your not-happy feels!  
Thank you everyone! Thank you especially to my magical beta ****kouw!**


	101. Chapter 101

They walked slowly toward their home.

"Mrs Hughes, I wonder…"

She looked up at him sharply.

He paused, puzzling out the reason for her expression, then caught it. "Elsie."

A bit shakily, she responded: "Charlie?"

He paused.

"Never mind."

* * *

His odd behavior made her stop abruptly, her hand inadvertently pulling at his elbow, throwing him slightly off-balance.

She blinked, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "What do you mean, 'never mind'?"

"I — nothing."

She grew more and more concerned.

"Something is wrong. Please, you can tell me —" and she reached to touch his face.

He drew back just slightly.

Rejected, she retreated. Her fingers, curling inward.

He saw her pain and felt like a cad. _Such thoughts about her _— but surely it wasn't such a crime to want to do _that_.

"Er, no. Nothing's _wrong_, exactly, just…" He trailed off.

She dropped her hand, tucked her chin and looked at him. Furrowed brow, big eyes.

It was an old look from their old ways. She resisted the urge to flee. Not that it was possible anymore. But anxiety brought irrational thoughts to her mind.

To his as well. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Charlie, are you alright?" Her soft voice both calmed and excited him.

A small nod. He frowned, thinking. "There's something I want to ask you but I'm not sure how to say it."

Her expression softened. A little smile.

_Oh, is that all? Darling worried man. _

She wondered what he wanted to know.

They'd already shared their rambling tales over wine and cheese and bread in the middle of their nights.

_Most of them, that is._ She blushed, thinking of his pantry, of her hairbrush.

He saw her blush and wondered.

She pulled herself together.

"Well. You can always start, and then go back and explain if you need to." Her lilt, _god_, the loveliness of her voice. Her kindness. Her practicality.

"Yes, but — I think I'm just not … _ready_ to say it."

Adrenaline. Her heart pounding. She wasn't sure what he wanted to ask her, but clearly it weighed heavy on him.

* * *

...

**a/n: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what your thinks and feeeeels are. Happy Downton Eve!  
**Thanks as always to my magical beta, kouw!


	102. Chapter 102

**multiple updates. started with chapter 101 today...**

**.**

**.**

* * *

She wasn't sure what he wanted to ask her, but clearly it weighed heavy on him.

* * *

"Well," she began shakily, "you just let me know when you're ready and I'll be here."

A pause.

_Say something already, old man._

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes." _Damn it. _"...Elsie."

He shook his head and started walking again. Her first few steps were a bit rushed as he pulled her with him.

After a few moments she squeezed his arm, smiling sweetly at him. He looked back, unaware of the thunder in his expression.

Her smile faded.

_Oh, how fine. Now you've scared her._

He put his hand over hers and they walked on in silence.

* * *

Dinner had been slightly awkward, although she'd reached to squeeze his hand when he'd looked particularly lost.

They were just finishing the washing up. He gathered his courage and wrapped his arms around her from behind as she wrung out the cloth and hung it to dry.

Relieved, she relaxed into him, tilting her head to one side and humming with pleasure as he nuzzled her neck.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier." His deep rumble, soft in her ear.

She dried her hands and he hung up the towel, one arm still around her waist.

She turned in his arms and looked at him, taking in his worried expression.

"I can tell something is troubling you. I hope you'll let me help."

She trailed her fingertips over his cheek, her thumb over his bottom lip. He shuddered, kissed her palm, and suddenly drew her tightly into him. He cradled her head with his big hand and pressed a kiss to her hair.

Pressed against his chest, she inhaled him.

He smelled like _home. _Smiling, she closed her eyes.

They went to their bedroom, not bothering to bring a light.

Her hands rested on his chest as he gently pulled every pin from her hair.

She unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hands inside.

They undressed one another slowly.

He tried to push _those_ thoughts from his mind. _So very French_, he thought, half-grimacing. He managed to hold back a nervous bark of laughter.

Something was off again; she could tell. She led him to sit on the bed and cradled his face in her hands.

"Whatever you want to know, my man, you only have to ask."

He was confused for half a second, then embarrassed. He couldn't help the words tumbling out.

"It's not that kind of question, exactly."

"Oh?"

_God damn it_. He'd put his foot in it. He _did not_ want to talk about it, and especially not now when they were so close to some kind of normalcy.

* * *

...

**a/n: please do tell me all about your thinks and feels, darling. your reviews bring me joie. xoxoxo**

thanks as always to kouw for beta magic! MWAH


	103. Chapter 103

**multiple updates today! start with chapter 101.**

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* * *

Something was off again; she could tell. She led him to sit on the bed and cradled his face in her hands.

"Whatever you want to know, my man, you only have to ask."

He was confused for half a second, then embarrassed. He couldn't help the words tumbling out.

"It's not that kind of question, exactly."

"Oh?"

_God damn it_. He'd put his foot in it. He _did not_ want to talk about it, and especially not now when they were so close to some kind of normalcy.

* * *

He shook his head, effectively breaking contact.

Her hands fell to her lap.

He cursed himself. He felt a fool, sitting there in shorts and undershirt, half-erect, his hands tense on his knees.

She looked more vulnerable in her shift than she did naked.

"I wish you would tell me."

"I _will_, darling. I just — I just need time."

"You're starting to worry me."

He looked up sharply, searching her face as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The moon shone just enough so that he could make out her expression.

"I'm sorry." He caressed her cheek, then slid his fingers into her hair. She sighed, melting into his touch.

He kept it up, massaging her scalp, and she leaned her head forward against his chest. He jerked slightly when she rested a hand on his thigh.

She looked up at him, then reached with her other hand, pulling him in for a slow kiss. She gave little moans as their mouths opened and their kiss grew more demanding.

She retreated long enough to pull her shift over her head. Letting it pool on the floor, she reached for his undershirt. He let her pull it off him, then followed her as she moved backward on the bed.

They slipped between the sheets together and worked together to rid him of his shorts.

* * *

**a/n: thank you for all the lovely reviews! i would love to hear your thinks and feels about this one. you are lovely!**

thanks always to kouw!


	104. Chapter 104

She drew back, but only long enough to pull her shift over her head. She let it pool on the floor, then reached for his undershirt. He let her pull it off him, then followed her as she moved backward on the bed.

They slipped between the sheets together and worked together to rid him of his shorts.

* * *

Her hand on his chest. His hand on her hip. Side by side, trading kisses.

Reverent touches. His hand running through her hair.

Not sure what he was even doing, he pulled her on top of him. He thought it might amuse her. He didn't dare think of other possibilities.

She went willingly. Straddling his hips, pressed lightly against his erection.

Her hands on either side of his head. Leaning down, kissing him deeply. His head off the pillow as he rose to meet her.

Her unbelievably soft skin as his hands ran from her hips up to cup her breasts. Her ragged breath, his thumbs glancing over her nipples.

His hand trailed down her back, making her shiver.

"Elsie —"

"Hmmmm."

"I want you."

She smiled brilliantly in the moonlight. Her eyebrows rose.

"Like this?"

He nodded, shocked at himself, fearing her judgment. Surely she would find him depraved, weak, unmanly. He waited.

She smiled, then bent down to kiss him again. Tenderly, passionately.

She whispered in his ear. "I've wanted to do this."

"Oh my _god,_ Elsie." His hips thrust involuntarily upward. Her gasp turned into a delighted moan.

She trailed one hand down his cheek, his neck, tracing his collarbone, grazing over his nipple and enjoying the hitch in his breath. Reaching down between them, she guided him and _took_ him.

Her breath, her voice trembled as she lowered herself onto him.

"My Elsie..." His words dissolved into a long guttural moan as she took him in entirely. She rested on him, taking a moment to get accustomed to him fully inside her.

Her _heat_. Tight around him, welcoming him. Her weight on him. It was like _nothing_ else_._

They lingered this way for a few moments. Then she rocked against him, arching her back as his thick hardness filled her.

Their height difference was accentuated by this position. With him so deep inside her, she could not reach to kiss him.

"Charlie," she breathed.

"Huh?" He opened his eyes to see her smile.

"I want you _closer. _Maybe put some pillows…?" She gestured. He curled up a bit to accommodate the pillows that she stacked under his shoulders and head. In moving that way, he thrust slightly deeper inside her and she yelped, halfway between pleasure and pain. Then she shuddered, curling forward, falling onto her hands. She kissed him hungrily. He thrust within her again, but she lifted off of him, shaking her head.

"Too much, my love."

"I'm sorry —" he began, but she covered his mouth with her hand. His eyes widened and she gave a little laugh. Then she released him, leaned forward to kiss him, and moved experimentally up and down.

_Oh yes, this position will do nicely_, she thought and laughed inwardly at her stoic reflections. Then he moved within her, just slightly — _oh my, but he learns fast_ — and she curled into him, her hot mouth on his chest. She ran her tongue over his nipple, causing him to push into her again.

Every movement had consequences, some of them surprising. She found she liked to lean forward on him; sitting up could be uncomfortable with his length.

Every thrust was met, every moan welcomed. Every touch savored. His hands on her hips, he pulled and pushed her. Up and down. Shaking her head rapidly, and with a strong grip, she moved his hands from her hips to her breasts, closing his fingers around her nipples.

Every breath was a shudder, a moan, a name. Profanities tumbled from his mouth and hers as their tempo increased.

She was getting close, but it wasn't enough. She brought one hand to her sex and dipped her fingers between her lips. Rising up, she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed gently. His reactions spurred her on.

That silken skin against her fingertips. She trailed her fingers over him, then sank down again. Her fingers made slippery, she spread her wetness and stroked herself.

_Good god, the sight of her._

"Oh my, fuck, Elsie, what you _do _to me, woman, _fuck_ _me__!_" He was delirious, babbling, and he did not give a damn with this woman _riding_ him and _touching herself_, her back arched. She fell forward, moving slowly up and down, and she felt the familiar build as she approached her climax.

"I — I'm going to — Charlie —"

"Yes, Elsie, _do_ it, I want to see you _come for me_ —" He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth but since that night in the bathtub he had become bold. "_Come for me" _— he must have read that somewhere too. "Coming," how perfect for them as they came home to each other after such a terribly long time.

He spared no more thought for the words in his mind because she was _right there_, surrounding him, on _top_ of him; this was never the way he'd imagined it but now he didn't want it to end. She was almost there, holding still now as she touched herself with him inside her.

He pushed into her and she gasped. He looked at her, questioning — and when she nodded, he did it again. She undulated, sitting up, moaning, her hand relentless on herself, and then she was coming undone, her voice in her ecstasy filling the room.

For a few seconds she lay flush against him, catching her breath. This made it easier for him when he rolled them over, glad when her legs wrapped around him, when her hands reached for him.

"Yes! Come to me, my man." And he did, thrusting once, twice. She whimpered when he paused, bucking her hips against him. He started to pulse steadily in and out.

"Harder," she begged.

And he gave it to her. Fast and strong. She came again, tight around him, her hand on her sex. When he had spilled inside her with a great roar, she locked her arms and legs around him and pulled him to lie on top of her.

_Just for a little while_, she thought. _Stay with me. _He did.

Then he slowly pulled out, fell beside her, and took her hand.

_Her scent_. He kissed her hand, holding it for too long, taking her fingertips into his mouth. He kissed and suckled each finger.

_This can't go on_. He was sure of that now.

* * *

**a/n: let me know what you think, pleeze. i love your reviews!**

thank you kouw for your beta magic!


	105. Chapter 105

_._

* * *

_Just for a little while_, she thought. _Stay with me. _ He did. Then he rolled them onto their sides and took her hand to kiss it.

_Her scent_. He kissed her hand, holding it for too long, taking her fingertips into his mouth. He kissed and suckled each finger.

_This can't go on_. He was sure of that now.

* * *

His mouth, hot and wet. _Almost like my _—

The word _cunt_ snagged in her brain.

Actually it was very different. His tongue swirling around her fingers, teasing the skin in between. Sucking at her skin. Nipping at her fingertips.

She pressed her fingers into his mouth, letting him worship her hand.

"Mmm, Charlie, that feels so _good_…" Her voice, delighted. Musical.

He hummed in response, his eyes closed.

His voice rumbled through her hand, wrist, forearm.

He ran her hand down his face and held it over his mouth.

* * *

He tried not to breathe in too obviously as he held her hand over his mouth.

He kissed her palm and closed her fingers around it, kissing them too.

_Let go, Charlie._ _You have to try. Ask her. Tomorrow._

* * *

She woke to the sound of birds chirping.

His arm heavy around her waist. Sun streaming through their window.

She turned to find him already blinking awake.

His stubble under the pads of her fingers, his kiss to her palm.

She remembered his mouth on her hand last night and blushed, laughing softly.

"Good morning," they both started to say.

_Chilly_. They put on pajamas, dressing gowns, slippers.

He put the water on; she made the toast. He fried eggs and tomatoes; she poured the tea.

Her hair, loose and over one shoulder, shone in the sun.

She looked up from her tea to find him staring at her. She blinked, smiled her response.

A little frown knitted her brow when he averted his eyes.

* * *

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**a/n: hi lovely! please let me know what your thinks and feels are! i love hearing from you! thank you for your reviews so far. MWAH.**

thanks always to the fabulous and brilliant **kouw!**


	106. Chapter 106

**multiple updates... start with 105 this time. **(or 101, if you didn't see anything yesterday. or just start over if you have some time on your hands, haha)**.**

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* * *

She looked up from her tea to find him staring at her. She blinked, smiled her response.

A little frown knitted her brow when he averted his eyes.

* * *

"Charlie?"

He took a deep breath, staring at his hand on the table. She winced but he couldn't see it.

She concealed her unease, but not terribly well. She wasn't sure what he was going to ask her, but his hesitation could mean many different things.

_Out with it, old man. _He took a deep breath.

"I was wondering…"

Her kind expression. Raised eyebrows. Patience.

"I've been wanting to ask you something."

"Yes. You can ask me anyth—"

"I wanted to know if I could, erm..."

She frowned in confusion. _What in God's name?_

"If I could, er, kiss you."

Now she was well and truly baffled. She scoffed.

"Why would you even ask that? I mean, it's very sweet, my man."

"Ah. No, my love, I mean, er… _kiss you_."

Another tiny shake of her head. "I'm not sure I follow. You can always kiss me. I love your kisses."

He wished for the earth to swallow him up.

_Talking about these things in the light of the bloody kitchen table. You dirty old goat._

It was utter torment, but he pressed on.

He looked miserable and she was mightily confused.

"Erm, it's rather a question of _where…_"

His eyes involuntarily flicked downward and she thought perhaps she understood.

"Oh my god."

She looked away, blushing furiously, biting her lip hard. She felt she could die on the spot from embarrassment.

"Dammit, I've embarrassed you. I'm so sorry, Elsie."

He reached for her hand and she jerked away. He could hardly breathe.

* * *

**a/n:** **pooor goooobers. darling readers, i would love to know what you think of this. drop me a line, dearests!**

and as always thanks to **kouw!**


	107. Chapter 107

**Chapter 105 is the first one of the day...**

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* * *

He reached for her hand and she jerked away. He could hardly breathe.

* * *

She stood, trying to flee the room. To go to their bedroom, put on some _clothes_, for God's sake.

He was desperate, standing, reaching for her.

"But — _why?_" Her eyes, desperate, her voice high and breathless.

"I saw it once —"

Her eyes widened in absolute horror.

_Oh good god, what does she think I was watching?_

"It was just a _picture, _darling —"

"That doesn't make it _better_!" she hissed, tears welling in her eyes.

He stopped, wanting to dry her tears, but she flinched away from his touch.

"So this is why you've —oh my god!" _Why you sucked your fingers_, but she could not say such a thing, could _not_, not when it meant _that._

"Why I've what? I —"

"I need to go sort my head."

And she was gone, rushing to the bedroom, closing the door.

Minutes later she emerged, her black dress buttoned practically up to her chin.

She collected her umbrella, her coat. She affixed her hat. The overall picture was of an elegant, decent woman. With terror in her eyes.

He sat at the kitchen table in his dressing gown. His hands resting on the table, he had been watching her get ready.

She couldn't stand the desperation in his eyes.

_Say something, Els._ She couldn't think what to say.

She lingered at the door.

"Will you be back?" His voice actually cracked as he said it. He looked at his hands.

A pause. Her disbelief that he would even have to _ask_ that. _Of __course_ _I'm coming back._

She nodded, but he still stared at his hands.

"I just need a walk to sort my head."

Her quiet response seemed clear to her.

* * *

**a/n: yesss give me your wrath and your angsty feeeeels! i love your reviews!**

**MWAH to kouw! Thank you so much!**


	108. Chapter 108

She lingered at the door.

"Will you be back?" His voice actually cracked as he said it. He looked at his hands.

A pause. Her disbelief that he would even have to _ask_ that. _Of __course_ _I'm coming back._

She nodded, but he still stared at his hands.

"I just need a walk to sort my head."

Her quiet response seemed clear to her.

* * *

She left, closing the door softly behind her.

She walked quickly, trying to shake out the embarrassment. To stamp out her irrational fear.

_What are you afraid of, Els?_

A kiss. In that forbidden place that she'd only learned to love in the past few months.

A _kiss, _though. How harmless.

But _right there. _And _then _what_?_

What she was imagining was a peck_. _Chaste, affectionate. Strange. She wrinkled her nose, curled her lip.

_Why would he want to…?_

There was no one she could ask about this. Not that she could _ever_ say the words out loud. Marie Stopes's book would be no help either.

She walked on. A winding path down to the little stream. She sat on a stone, warmed by the sun.

Her chin in her hands. A tear dropped, disappearing in the dark fabric of her sleeve.

"Ugh_." _She wiped at her tears, frustrated.

She tried to puzzle out the reasons for her upset.

Of _course_ the fact that he'd only seen it in a picture did make it better; it made it _infinitely_ better.

She shuddered at the insane notion of him having watched it in the flesh. He would never have been so crass, not even in his days on the halls. She didn't even want to _think_ about how such a show would have been orchestrated.

_Enough, Elsie_. _You're just winding yourself up more._

She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally.

_So he wants to kiss you there._

Memories flashed through her mind. His mouth on her hand. He had _sucked_ on her. Nibbled. His tongue had explored and worshipped every _inch_ of her fingers.

Suddenly she understood, and as adrenaline shot through her and she covered her mouth in shock, she also gasped out loud. Her exclamation sounded obscene to her in those quiet, pristine surroundings. She hugged herself tightly with her other arm, her hand clamped over her mouth as she stared at nothing.

_Oh my god, of course he doesn't mean... he means… he doesn't mean a __kiss. __He wants to __lick_ _me. He wants his __tongue_ _there. __His __mouth_ _on me._

It was _unheard_ of. It was _worse_. It was — baffling. Confusing.

She whispered it, half-horrified. "_His mouth on me."_

She was not entirely certain of all of the reasons for her shiver.

* * *

**a/n** **everybody breathe... then let me have all your wrath and angsty (and other) feels! thank you for your reviews!****  
**

and thank you always to the lovely** kouw!**


	109. Chapter 109

It was _unheard_ of.

She whispered it, half-horrified.

"_His mouth on me."_

She was not entirely certain of the reasons for her shiver.

* * *

She was _very_ certain that she wanted to see him again. This instant. To reconcile. To soothe and pet him if he'd let her. He'd meant no harm. The _other_ thing, well. That could wait.

_He wasn't even sure I would come back. Poor dear. _

It occurred to her that she had not actually told him "yes," that she would be back.

She gasped.

He had not seen her nod. He might actually not be sure of her.

She moved faster than she had in years as she jumped to her feet. She nearly forgot the umbrella — it had been absurd to take it in the first place. But on some level she had needed something to carry. Something protective, something to wield.

She was a little light-headed from her reflections and she narrowly avoided tripping over tree roots on her way.

* * *

An _hour_ she'd been gone.

He'd sat at the table for several minutes, considering going after her.

_In your pajamas, old man. Grabbing your woman, in broad daylight. _

And then the struggle that might have happened. No matter whether it was in public or in private, he would _never_ force her into anything.

Playfully grabbing her arm to spin her into his kiss was one thing. This — _this _was _awful_. And if she had to go on a walk, so be it.

_So be it._

Insane, these thoughts of her leaving him and never coming back. Over a thing like that. He could see he'd frightened her. Badly. He would never have imagined that, not after she so boldly showed herself to him.

Not after she took him that way last night — _oh Christ, the sight of her_ — and he shook his head, passed his hand over his face, and stood.

Although he was alone, he moved slowly, carefully. Mechanically.

As if a sudden movement could scatter everything to the winds.

His hands shook as he finished washing up. He dropped a teacup.

* * *

She stood outside with her hand on the doorknob. Thinking how to speak to him, how _not_ to speak about _that_, because she wasn't ready; she'd only just formed the idea of it in her own mind.

_His mouth —_

It was _such_ a strange notion, and one for which she had been completely unprepared.

Hearing the cup shatter, she turned the knob.

* * *

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**a/n thank you all for the reviews! i LOVE them. and thank YOU, guest reviewer(s) to whom I can't respond! **The comments about this being honest, not like in the movieez where they come together immediately and nothing has to be discussed. Thank you! It means a lot to me!


	110. Chapter 110

She heard the cup shatter and turned the knob.

* * *

Hearing the door, he looked up just as his fingers closed around the first shard.

Then he cursed as he realized he'd cut himself.

"Ohhh," she began, seeing what he'd done. She hesitated in the doorway.

"You came back." His voice, thick with grief.

"Of course I di— " She began brightly, but her smiling lilt caught on the last syllable as tears threatened.

She shook her head — _stop this flanneling, Els _— and crossed the room to him, barely pausing to rid herself of the blasted umbrella.

"Oh, my poor dear." She pulled at him. He rose, letting her bring his hand to the faucet. She leaned her head on his shoulder as best she could in her hat, washing his cut with soap.

Then she took the drying cloth and wrapped it tightly around his finger. They both relived those desperate moments months ago in his pantry when he had a paper cut. The barriers that had kept them apart then were long gone, burned away — suddenly replaced by other, far less familiar and much more unsettling ones.

Still, she pressed a kiss to each knuckle, the back of his hand, the inside of his wrist.

Dazed and cautious, he made no move on his own, but let her guide him.

She pressed his other hand over the cloth, touched his cheek with her fingertips — _he still looks so miserable _—

"Charlie, love, why don't you go sit down. I'll make us some tea."

"But the broken cup..."

"...is nothing you can deal with at the moment anyway, not with that cut. I'll get it."

He sat down at the kitchen table. She took off her hat, passing by him as she went to put it away.

"I meant the settee, but if you're comfortable there, suit yourself." He took in her little smile and her beautiful eyes that shone with love and something else. Sadness? Fear? He couldn't tell.

It didn't make sense to him that he was so viscerally afraid to let her out of his sight.

* * *

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**a/n i'd love to hear from you, lovely readers! let me know how you're doing. thank you! and thank you GUEST reviewers! i wish i could respond to your lovely insights; please know you're very appreciated! xoxo**

**thank you ****kouw****!**


	111. Chapter 111

He sat down at the kitchen table.

"I meant the settee, but if you're comfortable there, suit yourself." He took in her little smile and her beautiful eyes that shone with love and something else that looked like fear.

It didn't make sense to him that he was so viscerally afraid to let her out of his sight.

* * *

She swept up the pieces, feeling his eyes on her.

_Look at him, Els. You can do it._

She did. He looked devastated.

"Charlie. Please say something."

He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"I just — I can't believe that. I can't help but think I'm going to turn around and you'll be gone."

The tray was laid with cups and saucers, the pot ready. The kettle was on, and she slipped into the chair across from him, ducking her chin and looking at him in sympathy —_oh but it is difficult to look him in the eyes, after what he said, and now, now with this agony in his eyes._

Slowly, in a low voice, she spoke. "Mr Carson." Their shared discomfort brought back old habits.

Half a second saw his wounded look and the shake of her head with a blink, a frown, a little smile.

"_Charlie_. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, and when I said I just needed a walk to sort my head, I meant it. No, it's _true_," she insisted when he looked at her incredulously.

The kettle started to whistle and she got up, irritated by the interruption.

He watched her pour the water and bring the tray to the table.

Her capable hands. _She is so __strong__. _

The hands that poured his medicine when he was ill. _She is __never_ _ill. I don't know how she does it._

His heart skipped a beat as he became aware of the reason for his terrible fear.

* * *

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**a/n: and i bet you know why too.  
drop me a line, pumpkins! i love your reviews! many thanks to you and to kouw!**


	112. Chapter 112

Her capable hands. _She is so strong._

The hands that had poured his medicine when he was ill. _She is __never__ ill. I don't know how she does it._

His heart skipped a beat as he became aware of the reason for his terrible fear.

* * *

It wasn't that he'd forgotten about her cancer scare. Far from it. Over the last four-odd years, he'd tried unsuccessfully to forget. And now he couldn't even try anymore.

But he refused to ask her about it just now. Not after the morning's disaster.

"Thank you," he said as she handed him his perfect cup of tea.

"Charlie, why would you ever think I would leave?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't want to bother you with it, not after — not after this morning."

They started to talk over one another unintentionally.

"Does it have to do with _that_? Because we can talk about —"

"No, no —" he began. "Wait — what?"

Nerves made her speak quickly, her voice high.

"Och, I said we can talk about it, but I'd very much prefer not to talk about it just yet."

She slowed down, her tone gentler. "I'd like to know why you're so afraid I would leave you."

Her heart was pounding and so was his. This was beginning to feel like a dreadful farce, and she was glad for the tea to settle her nerves a little.

"It was a long time ago, Elsie."

She held back a scoff, not wanting to embarrass him. "A long time could mean anything, love."

"About four years ago." _Please don't make me say it. Please._

She inhaled quickly.

"Did you know I knew?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "You want to know why I didn't tell you."

"I... Not exactly. I was so afraid, Elsie."

"So was I," she said quietly.

"Of course you were." He shook his head, frowning at himself, staring at his fingers tapping softly on the table. "And you had the right to keep it to yourself. I had no right to be so afraid."

She wiped a tear away and held her hand out to him."You had — you have — _every_ right. It was a terrible time. But we have to remember that it was never cancer."

He took her hand.

The only other time she'd seen him look this way was on that terrible night when they had lost Lady Sybil.

"Come here, darling." She stood, pulled at him, embraced him. He stood stiffly for a fraction of a second and then crushed her to him, strong arms wrapped around her.

Enveloped. Protected. Loved fiercely.

It was what she needed too after feeling so exposed just _thinking_ about what he wanted to do with his mouth.

* * *

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**a/n how you doin', love? thanks for your reviews! thank you ****kouw**** for beta magic and ESPECIALLY for pointing out the connection between his fear of her leaving and the visceral, never-dealt-with fear from her cancer scare.**


	113. Chapter 113

He shook his head, frowning at himself, staring at his fingers tapping softly on the table. "I had no right to be so afraid."

She wiped a tear away and held her hand out to him."You have _every_ right to feel that way, but you needn't worry." She smiled at him then. "You're stuck with me."

He looked up at her. She remembered the only other time she'd seen him look this way. it was when they had lost Lady Sybil.

"Come here, darling." She stood, pulled at him, embraced him. He stood stiffly for a fraction of a second and then crushed her to him, strong arms wrapped around her.

It was what she needed too after feeling so exposed just _thinking_ about what he wanted to do with his mouth.

* * *

They breathed together, him cradling her head against his chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, sighing.

"I know it was never cancer. It doesn't change anything."

Her sudden laugh sounded almost angry. "I'll say it does."

He cursed his stupidity. "Oh, good god. Yes, of _course_ it does, darling."

She understood his tone and softened hers. "You still worry."

He sighed heavily.

She pushed back and looked him in the eye. "It was _never_ cancer," she said forcefully and he winced, just slightly. "I — I wish I could say something, Charlie. To make this fear go away."

His gentle fingertips lingered on her cheek and she leaned into his hand, closing her eyes and kissing his palm.

"We've left it all so late." It was she who said it.

He didn't know what to say. _She's right._ He settled on that.

"You're right."

She sighed.

He struggled with himself. _Say something, old man. Do it._

"I'm sorry."

She frowned. "For what, exactly?"

_Oh god. _"For… everything."

He still didn't know what the hell he was doing. Maybe it would be alright to admit that for once.

Her puzzled expression, laced with frustration.

"I wish I could go back," he began. His voice caught.

She sighed. "So do I, my man."

"So much time lost. I wish you'd heard me."

"Heard you?" She didn't know what he was hinting at.

"Even just four years ago. I was sure you would. You'd just come back with the doctor's good news."

She bit back her smile. "Oh... Dashing away with a smoothing iron?"

He stood open-mouthed. "You knew."

She drew him down to her and kissed him softly.

When he broke the kiss, she beamed at him.

"Why didn't you come find me? Why didn't you let on?"

"I couldn't, love. Just imagine it."

A pause. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know."

"You were _impossible_."

He frowned, tucked his chin.

"Yes, you were."

He sighed, knowing it was true. Then he took another deep breath, held it. Wanting to ask her, wanting to forget about it.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to press you. You had a right to keep your own counsel."

"I _couldn't_ tell you. Do you want to know why?"

"No, it's alright —"

"I didn't want you to think of me as a sick woman. A dying woman."

He shook his head quickly, desperately, as he pulled her into him again.

"I can't think of you that way."

* * *

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**a/n **thank you so much to **kouw** for your beta magic! and thank you everyone for your reviews! I loooove reading what you think of this long loooong journey they are on. thank you!


	114. Chapter 114

"I didn't want you to think of me as a sick woman. A dying woman."

He shook his head quickly, desperately, as he pulled her into him again.

"I can't think of you that way."

* * *

She held on tighter.

"Then don't."

He nearly broke. "My love, it's not that easy."

"No, I mean — I want you to think of me as your _wife_. The living, breathing woman who loves you." _Who wants you beyond all reason. _A week ago she would have said that out loud, and she was sure she would again.

"I love you, Elsie."

He still sounded so devastated. Her words were not working.

She backed away just enough to take his hand, pressing his palm against her chest. Just over her heart. Just over the breast that could have killed her.

_Does he know?_ She didn't know if she wanted to tell him it'd been her breast. She wasn't sure whether it would help or hurt.

But it was _never _cancer.

"Can you feel my heartbeat, Charlie? _Feel it._ I'm _alive_. And so are you."

Desire and grief combined in the groan that rumbled from his chest to hers.

She closed her eyes, her breath trembling. Intense heat from his hand through her high-necked black dress, her shift. His hand moved down.

He cupped her breast so gently, she almost couldn't feel it through her corset.

She pulled at him and kissed him. Softly, slowly. Tears began to fall as they paused to breathe, their foreheads leaning together.

He stared._ God_, the rise and fall of her chest. Her rapid breathing. Her severe dress. The fabric moving with her.

"Elsie…" Her body curved toward him of its own accord as his voice caressed her name.

"Mmmm..."

"Elsie, I know it's terribly forward of me, but —" His intent was simply to kiss her. It was strange to ask it, but after their rocky morning he didn't want to presume anything.

"Yes."

"What? You don't know —"

"Yes."

He frowned, puzzled. She smiled and bit her lip.

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip — one of his favorite new freedoms.

"You don't even know what you're saying yes to." He meant it playfully.

A flicker of worry across her face. His immediate regret. He stumbled over his words. "You're maybe thinking about what I said this morning; that's not I meant. I mean, I would love to — but only if _you_ — oh god. Just now I only meant to ask if I could kiss you." He winced as the words came out.

_"Here,"_ he emphasized, his fingertips touching her mouth, her bitten lip.

She took a deep breath and grasped both his hands, then looked up and smiled nervously at him.

"Yes. The other thing... I'd really like it if we left it be for now."

"Of course." He'd talked over the last two words in her sentence, but it didn't matter. She was already pulling him down to her, pressing his hand to her breast.

* * *

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**a/n and the angst storm lets up... i'd love to know what you think! Thank you kouw!**


	115. Chapter 115

A flicker of worry across her face. His immediate regret. He stumbled over his words. "You're maybe thinking about what I said this morning; that's not I meant. I mean, I would love to — but only if _you_ — oh god. Just now I only meant to ask if I could kiss you." He winced as the words came out.

_"Here,"_ he emphasized, his fingertips touching her mouth, her bitten lip.

She took a deep breath and grasped both his hands, then looked up and smiled nervously at him.

"Yes. The other thing... I'd really like it if we left it be for now."

"Of course." He'd talked over the last two words in her sentence, but it didn't matter. She was already pulling him down to her, pressing his hand to her breast.

* * *

Closing her eyes to kiss him, she felt his resistance. His neck against her hand, the back of his hand against her palm.

_Oh my poor darling man_. She stopped pulling him.

"Did you — did you hear what I said, Charlie?" Her voice was half whisper.

"Yes — you don't want to talk about it. We don't have to. I'm sorry I ever brought it up." He looked devastated.

"No — that's not it, my love. I just.. I'm not ready to talk about it, but — I want to. To talk about it — soon," she breathed.

He inhaled swiftly, adrenaline rushing through him. _Good god, her eyes _— she looked loving, even aroused, biting her lip with a gentle smile.

He relaxed into her, his hand curving around her breast. His thumb caressed her through the dress, over the top of her corset.

Her breath trembled slightly at his touch, she closed her eyes. Whispered.

"Can you feel my heart?"

"Y— yes —" It was strong. Living, beating fast.

"I'm not going anywhere, Charlie."

And she reached up and he leaned down and she closed the distance, kissing him softly.

His other hand at her waist, he drew her close. He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck, her ear.

"I want to show you," she began.

"Hmmm?" His voice rumbling in her ear made her shiver.

"Where it was. The thing we thought was cancer."

His quick intake of breath. Relief and uncertainty mixed in his eyes.

"Yes. Please," he managed.

She took his hand and slowly led him to their bedroom.

As they went, she began to unbutton her high-necked dress with one hand.

* * *

His gentle hand over hers. Warm. Strong.

"You don't mind if I…" He gestured to her buttons.

Her small smile, her shining eyes as she shook her head. Her hand on his chest, fingers slowly starting to curl around his lapel. Her soft voice reassuring him.

"I don't mind it. I do like it when you're bold."

Relieved, he cradled her head in one hand and leaned his forehead against hers.

"And I'm sorry I scared you, Charlie." He looked up, questioning. She nodded, remembering her reactions of the morning.

She let him undo her long line of buttons. He kissed her neck, her chest as she was slowly revealed. Her skin was hot to the touch. Her quiet little moans. At her nod, he slowly pushed the dress off her shoulders, over her hips. She stepped out of it and he draped it over a chair.

In corset and shift she stood before him, warm and alive and loving.

She smiled at him, welcoming him. Waiting for him to unwrap her, ready to show him.

* * *

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**a/n **thank you for the notes and love! i would love to know what you think of this little ditty in this long-ass epic. drop me a line pls! thank you!  
special thanks to kouw, the most wonderful beta a girl could imagine and a dear friend.


	116. Chapter 116

In corset and shift she stood before him, warm and alive and loving.

She smiled at him, welcoming him. Waiting for him to unwrap her, ready to show him.

* * *

He opened her corset with expert hands. Both pleasure and cold were in her shiver as the corset fell away.

She whispered softly, "Wait…"

He paused, his hands just about to land gently on her shoulder, her waist. She smiled up at him.

"You're wearing an awful lot."

Instantly, he slipped out of both his jacket and his shoes. He rushed to unbutton his shirt.

Her soft laugh. "There's no hurry, my love." She kissed his hands and brought them to her waist, then left them there as she undid his buttons.

_Unwrapping him like the gift he is_, she thought, and immediately wanted to roll her eyes at such mawkishness. Maybe. But only just a little.

He kept his hands at her waist. His only movement was his thumbs caressing her through the shift.

She divested him of his shirt and undershirt, and he made quick work of socks and trousers and shorts. She removed her knickers, then brought his hands to the hem of her shift.

They had undressed each other dozens of times.

This was not so very different. This was _entirely_ different.

He raised her hem. Reverently, he made her naked.

With the sun shining in and no one to see them, she drew him over to the window.

Cupping her breast, she showed him the scar.

A line that once must have looked angry. Small faded dots where stitches had been. Flat pink and shining silver caught the light and took his breath away.

"This is it. This is all there is to it, my love."

His hand rose of its own accord, then stopped.

"Can I —"

"Yes."

He traced it lightly with his fingertips.

"I've wondered if that's what this is."

"Yes."

"Does it hurt?" His sudden worry, his eyes questioning hers.

Her little smile, bitten lip, bright eyes.

"Darling man. No, it doesn't hurt."

He bent down to kiss it.

"You're so beautiful, Elsie."

"So are you."

* * *

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**a/n **thanks for reading! do tell me what you think! i'm hoping to get a few more chapters in tonight. thank you for your reviews (including you lovely guest reviewers to whom I wish I could respond) and reblogs and follows and faves. MWAH

and thank you kouw for everything!


	117. Chapter 117

"You're beautiful, Elsie."

"So are you."

* * *

He was a bit taken aback. He raised his head, searching for signs of her teasing.

She looked serious. Her fingertips were gentle on his cheek.

"You think I'm — _beautiful?_" He scoffed.

"Absolutely."

He furrowed his brow, looking skeptical. She laughed softly.

"Oh my man. You have no idea, do you?"

He squared his shoulders. "Well, I may have been a bit vain when I was younger. But I came to my senses."

Her man in the nude with his mock seriousness. She laughed, wrinkling her nose. Her hand trailed down to rest on his shoulder.

His voice, quiet and low and easy. "I haven't seen you make that face in a long time."

"Haven't you?"

His small, pleased smile as he shook his head.

"And just what face did I make, if I may know?"

"You smile, and you have this little wrinkle, right here" — and he touched the bridge of her nose — "and here, and here" — and he touched each side of her nose. "And when you smile like that, it's very… it's very reassuring."

"Reassuring?"

"Yes — It makes me think that all is well, or will be." He tried to stifle a yawn; his eyelids were starting to feel heavy after the day's emotional upheaval.

Her voice was soft. "You've tried to change the subject."

"Have I?"

"You're beautiful, my man."

"Hmm." He smiled through his frown.

"Just don't get a big head about it."

He chuckled.

She did too, but for another reason. "Good lord, look at us. A couple of old lovebirds in the _altogether_ in the middle of the day. Lingering by the window, no less."

She reached up to smooth his furrowed brow.

"But no one can see us," she continued.

He sighed, closing his eyes. She could see he shared her fatigue.

"Should we get dressed?"

He shook his head. "Honestly, I'd like nothing more than to lie down for a bit. Like this."

Her soft chuckle, her nod. _I don't think I could stand having clothing between us right now either._

She was already removing pins, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. He slid his hands through the heavy silk of it, brought it to his nose, and kissed her lips.

They slid between the sheets and lay together, his chest to her back. She kissed his fingertips. Then it was his arm around her waist, his hand where she'd put it. Warmly covering her breast.

They talked sleepily.

"It's been a long day," she mumbled.

"Hmm. It's only four. Half-past, maybe."

"Daft lovely man. Always so precise."

"Daft?"

He felt her soft laughter.

"Never daft, not really."

Quiet, painless tears of fatigue. Her body shook as her crying deepened, and he held her closer, alarmed.

"Elsie, my love, what's wrong?"

She caught her breath and managed to speak. "Nothing, truly. I know, it's silly. But I just need — I need to cry. I'm alright, I can promise you. I suppose it's strange, but i just need to. It's alright."

He dried her tears and held her close. She turned in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, her arm around him.

After her tears abated, she sighed, relieved. Happy, even. So did he, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The comfort and warmth of lying naked together healed them as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

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a/n these goobers are gonna kill me. i hope that you are enjoying this. please let me know what you think; i long for your reviews! many thanks! and very many thanks to kouw for beta magic; this one needed some serious help. and thank you guest reviewer(s) to whom I wish i could respond. luuuurrrve


	118. Chapter 118

**just in case... the first update of today was 117. thanks for reading!**

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The comfort and warmth of lying naked together healed them as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He woke in the darkness, her warmth pressed against him. Glorious, her head on his shoulder, her arm around his middle, her hair across his chest and arm.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't shed a few tears of his own as they fell asleep together. After the visceral terror of losing her had finally been openly declared, he knew she wasn't going to leave him. Not of her own accord, and not from the benign whatever-it-was that they removed years ago.

_Her beautiful perfect breast, made even more beautiful by the scar that proves she's well._

Now he lay quietly, thinking.

He didn't want to live his life in fear of the inevitable. One or the other of them would die first. Someone would be left behind. The thought was horrifying. After all this time denying themselves, rising to the top of their profession, doing work that truly was satisfying for both of them, to have found each other _now_

He sighed. Many thoughts curled through his mind at once.

_I __think_ _it's been satisfying for her too. She once said I "worship" the family. I know she doesn't. I'll have to ask her about it. If she's been happy. If I've made her happy. Happi__er._

He smiled into the dark room, until he remembered his humiliation at her response this morning. He wanted to pleasure her with his mouth, to taste her, feel her on his tongue, his lips, bury his face in her scent — _Oh Christ, that scent _—

_She said she wanted to talk about it._

_A good sign._

_How the hell do we __talk_ _about that?_

He remembered their heated moments in the bathtub. _That's_ _how. Well, that's __one_ _way. But how to talk about it normally. To explain, to tell her I mean no harm._

He sighed again. His thoughts turned gloomy.

'_Till death us do part.'_

_But we're healthy, I'm not old _— he smirked a little, remembering the look she'd thrown him once when he'd said that.

_I should stop calling myself 'old man.' I should not stop; I should face it. I don't know._

_I am sixty-six years old. And she is not sixty yet._

_Men die sooner._ The bluntness of his thoughts took him by surprise.

Horrid images of her left alone. Visiting his grave.

He lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, thinking too much.

* * *

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**a/n** I'm sorry about the angst; I was not expecting this but he was having some very big feelings and they needed to be acknowledged. Please know that the goobers are safe with me. They kill me, it's true, but I will not harm them. I'd love it if you'd drop me a line about this fucking sad, depressing mindpoop of a chapter. Ugh. goddammit. creys about the goobers for their restraint, missed chances, aging, beauty, love, secret courtship (?) and autumn love (?).


	119. Chapter 119

**just in case... the first update of today was 117. thanks for reading!**

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He lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, thinking too much.

* * *

She woke up with a start. Something was wrong.

He was startled too, at her sudden movement. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. She could just make out his face in the darkness.

"Charlie?"

He shook his head, wiped at his eyes.

Her voice immediately softened, taking on comforting tones. "Oh Charles. Oh, my love. Come here, my man."

And she lay down again, drawing his head to her bosom. He curled around her, shaking the bed with his sobs. She petted his hair, holding him close, letting him get it all out. Her other hand stroked his back, occasionally squeezing his shoulder.

She whispered her words of love to him as he wept his pain, his fear, his regret. Her tears flowed as well. She couldn't have known it yet, but in that moment they shared the same thoughts.

_Men die sooner. Left behind. All the time we've wasted. We could have _—

"I'm so sorry, Elsie," he ground out.

"Why?" her voice broke and he looked up at her. Seeing her tears, he tried to compose himself. She dried one of his tears and he grasped her hand and kissed it.

"All that lost time."

"Oh, Charlie —"

"Have you — been happy, Mrs Hu—" His slip-up made him laugh bitterly. "My love, my Elsie." His voice still wavered. "Have you been happy?"

"With you? Happier than I could ever have imagined."

Her fingers running through his hair. He shook his head. "I mean — with your life. In service. Are you glad?"

"I think you know that. I'm proud of my work. Of _our_ work."

"But we could have…" He trailed off, somehow unable to say it.

"We could have... gone another way? Yes, I regret that sometimes too." She spoke slowly, carefully, her voice sad but strong.

He lay back down, his head on her chest, and she held him.

"I do too." His voice rumbled through her.

"But we have our downstairs family. You're like a father to Daisy. And Anna."

"That's true," he said softly.

They remained quiet for a long time. Her hand rested on his head as she grew sleepy.

"I love you." Again his voice vibrated through her. It woke her up, but not much.

"Love you too."

"So many regrets. There's so much we could have had together."

"Yes."

She wanted to comfort him, but she could barely stay awake. She would tell him that she didn't regret their life together, that she would have welcomed children with him, but that what they _had_ built was indeed meaningful. Another time she would tell him.

"My god. What do we _do_ with that?"

He sounded so sad to her.

"Mmmhh... we live a little, mo gradh," she mumbled. She hardly knew what she was saying as she drifted off, but he heard it and it stayed with him.

"We live a little." He whispered it, not wanting to wake her again. His wife with unbraided hair, sleepy and warm.

He did rather want to wake her, to take her in his arms and kiss her, thank her for her wisdom, and then bring her pleasure. _Live a little._

But for now he wrapped himself around her, sighed, and relaxed. He was feeling better knowing he wasn't alone. He still needed to shed the tears that came now, softly, falling onto her chest. He pulled up the covers to keep her warm.

In her sleep she held on to him.

* * *

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a/n (sigh of relief) that's better, no? drop me a line please! xoxo


	120. Chapter 120

Early orange-pink light filled their room. Her man was wrapped around her, snoring softly.

She felt an overpowering wave of love. Blinking, she felt one tear escape and roll toward her ear. She didn't mind. She smiled, stroking his hair.

Memories of his torment in the middle of the night. Regrets. The time lost.

She sighed. She'd decided a long time ago that having children was not the way for her. Truth be told, she did feel like a mother to Anna and Daisy. And William… dear William.

They were their children, in a way.

_But to have bairns that we made together. That look like us._

_They would have been beautiful. _

She gave a soft rueful laugh, imagining a poor wee thing with a nose like that.

Her own regrets were few. Yes, she wished they could have reached this point earlier. Young and strong, they would have had everything. But her life in service had been a good one. She was proud of all they'd built.

Her touch and her laughter gradually woke him. He stretched luxuriously and turned back to curl around her, kissing the side of her breast.

_My big wonderful man._

Thirty years ago he was the first footman. All long limbs and big nose and imperious frown. The sternness was incongruous on such a young man, but having heard his stories, she understood now why he'd been that way.

_Still, he was __really_ _impossible then_.

She stroked his shoulder. He smiled up at her, sleepy and sweet. They embraced tightly, then relaxed into each other again.

The end of their conversation in the middle of the night was fuzzy in her memory. He'd asked something and she'd responded, but she had no idea what it was. No matter.

_I'll ask him later whether he remembers._

"Good morning, you." Her voice was a caress.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"I did. Did you?"

"I slept so well, my love. I had the most marvelous pillow."

She smiled, then looked at him seriously.

"Are you alright, Charlie?"

He nodded slowly, considering the question carefully. "I — Yes. I am, actually. And… are you alright?"

"I am. But I'd like to, erm, have you closer."

They were lying right next to one another in bed; he didn't know how they could possibly be any closer. _Unless_... _ohhh._

His face must have shown his confusion, because she blushed, biting her lip.

"It's a little hard to talk about, my man."

"Except when we're in the bathtub."

She gasped, but quickly managed, "Or tiddly."

He frowned, trying to remember.

"That first night, my man."

"Ah. I cannot thank Marie Stopes enough."

She gave one short syllable of laughter, bit her lip, and recovered.

"I think you have _me _to thank too, Charlie. Although it's true I would never have tried it out myself if not for —" She stopped herself, wide-eyed.

He actually _grinned _at her, the wicked man.

She blushed. "Well. Don't tell me _you_ never —" She looked away.

He had never seen her like this, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"Never what?"

"Never… you know."

_My god, she's flustered._

"No, Elsie. What ever do you mean?"

"_Indulged _yourself."

His attempt to look disapproving failed entirely.

"I tried not to."

She pulled back to look at him. "Oh, did you now?"

"For a long time."

Her soft laugh was only half nerves.

"What changed it?"

"Our mid-Season telephone call."

* * *

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**a/n and we're back! **

ahh, that's better. we're back in a major key now (i refer to the one-shot alternate chapter 120 angsty mindpoop)

i would love love love to see your reviews! i read each and every one with delight. Thank you, everyone! Thank you, kouw for being wonderful, and being a wonderful beta!


	121. Chapter 121

**nota bene: today's first update was 120. (also check out the variation on 120 if you feel like reading angst.)**

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* * *

"What changed it?"

"Our mid-Season telephone call."

* * *

"_What?"_

She was genuinely surprised. Her eyes twinkling, she made that face he loved.

He shifted so that they were lying side by side, and kissed her nose as she wrinkled it at him.

"If you must know, I was rather tormented." His tone was mock-serious.

She gasped, breathless. "Tormented? Really?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Get away with you." Her voice was suddenly soft, tender.

"No, it's true. I woke up every morning —" he stopped abruptly.

_Good god, man, are you about to tell her this?_

"Oh, don't, my man. Don't stop and get all worried and blustery. Please?"

"I… hmmm.. Well, suffice to say I had to… on the morning of our telephone call, or I would have made a fool of myself."

"Did you think of me?"

His heart skipped a beat. "_What?"_

"When you… erm. Did you think of me?"

He blinked in disbelief that she could talk like this.

_That night in the tub, though _—

He hoped she would do that again some day. He didn't know how to ask her.

He nodded. "Every time."

She inhaled rapidly and he took advantage of the moment to ask her something.

"Elsie."

She blinked, shook her head slightly.

"Do you know what you said last night? You were falling asleep, I think —"

"I meant to ask, actually. I remember you asked a question, and I said something, but I've got no idea —"

"I had wondered aloud what we should do. With all the regrets, with all the — all the lost time." He grew serious thinking about it. "But you —" He began to smile again — "you had a wise answer, darling."

He waited for her impatience to grow.

"Wise, indeed? Well! What was it then, love?"

"You simply said that we're to _live a little_."

She beamed at him.

"Heavens, such wisdom in moments of extreme fatigue."

"Yes. But then you said something else. But... surely you were just mumbling. Falling asleep."

_You're a hopeless liar._ Both of them thought it simultaneously.

"What was it?"

"Something like — moy rah…?"

"Oh my." Her little smile. He wanted to kiss her dimples.

"What, _oh my_?"

"It's Gaelic, darling. Mo gràdh."

"Meaning?"

"Cold bowl of pease porridge."

* * *

.

**a/n** these goobers, amirite?

please drop me a line! many many thanks! MWAH!


	122. Chapter 122

**first one today was 120 (with alternate 120 too. which is a cathartic angst fest)**

.

* * *

"It's Gaelic, darling. Mo gràdh."

"Meaning?"

"Cold bowl of pease porridge."

* * *

"Never."

"Wait, no... it's not pease porridge. Hmm… let me try to remember. I think it's 'lukewarm cup of stewed tea' instead…ahh!" And she could not but laugh, because he had given her bottom a squeeze, suppressing the urge to _tickle_ her instead. He had learned several days into their marriage that she _hated_ tickling.

Instead he kissed her soundly.

When he released her she was breathless, her eyelids heavy, her hands reaching for him.

She said more words he couldn't understand and he stared at her in wonder. From the way her tongue wrapped itself around the syllables —_ ha gull akam orsht,_ it was incomprehensible— he had the impression of hearing the origins of her brogue. Something primal. It was profoundly erotic.

_She would roll her eyes at me for that. Thinking of her as so very foreign when she's been here for decades. Getting in such a state about the way she speaks._

"What does it really mean?"

"Mo gràdh is 'my dear.' 'My darling,' that sort of thing." She grinned at him, waiting for his next question.

"And the other thing?"

"Tha gaol agam ort. It means … I love you. Like a lover."

He closed his eyes and pressed his hand against the base of her spine, pulling her into him. She could feel him growing hard.

"Good god, Elsie, the way you talk —"

"You like my accent, Mr Carson?"

"I like your _everything_, Mrs Hughes."

"Do you now?" She wasn't sure why it made her feel a little flustered.

He leaned in to kiss her. She rose up to meet him.

And then he was kissing her neck, her shoulder. Teasing her. Her breath began to shake.

Their skin was still hot from sleep.

He whispered in her ear. "I love the taste of you."

Her gasp became a moan as his mouth closed over her nipple.

* * *

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a/n: thanks for reading! i'd love to read what you think of this little proto-smut... xoxo! thank you!


	123. Chapter 123

He whispered in her ear. "I love the taste of you."

Her gasp became a moan as his mouth closed over her nipple.

* * *

Sucking on it, swirling his tongue around it, he gave a deep moan. She arched into him as his voice vibrated through her.

Thoughts rushed through her mind.

_His mouth on me._

_He meant no harm._

_Live a little._

As difficult as it was, she stopped him, pulling at him so he would come back to her.

Her fingers were in his hair, then trailing over his cheek.

Her other arm around his neck, his around her waist. Naked together, face to face.

He looked worried, again. _Poor darling — Oh, out with it, Els._

"Poor darling man... I know you meant no harm."

_No harm. _He frowned in slight confusion; he knew _exactly_ what she was talking about, but her feelings and intent were unclear.

"Yesterday," she tried to clarify.

"How do you mean that...?"

She spoke gently, so urgent to say her piece that she really did not hear his question. "And of course it's better that you saw it in a picture. I can't even imagine —"

_Where the hell is she going with this?_

He listened, focusing so intently he forgot to breathe.

She was… not mortified, exactly. But all of her words felt wrong, unclear.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry about my reaction yesterday, Charlie."

Needless conciliatory words began to tumble from his mouth — "never mind" and "I shouldn't have mentioned it" and the like.

She shook her head and bit her lip, frustrated with the difficulty of expressing this.

He stopped immediately, even inhaling as if he could withdraw the words.

Several seconds of silence that felt like minutes.

"I was ...afraid, Charlie. It was something I'd never heard of. I know, I'm usually the one for change and new things, but this — erm. This is different."

He wanted to speak. Even more, he longed to kiss her, to taste the lips that had formed those delicious words, so foreign and tangled to his ears.

But she'd never opened up like this before and he was not about to stifle it.

"I think... I..."

_Oh Els, this is your husband._

_And he wants this._

She laughed nervously.

"At first I thought you just meant a little kiss..."

He stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or not.

"But then I remembered — what you did with — with my hand."

He nodded, unwilling to interrupt her.

She bit her lip and met his eyes.

"Well, I suppose I did say that about living a little, didn't I..."

He nodded, cleared his throat, managing a small nervous smile. "Twice."

* * *

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a/n and things are moving along. i'd love to hear from you! your reviews give me LIFE. :) thank you thank you! and thank you always to kouw for magical beta awesomeness. MWAH


	124. Chapter 124

"At first I thought you just meant a little kiss..."

He stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or not.

"But then I remembered what you did with — with my hand."

He nodded, unwilling to interrupt her.

She bit her lip and met his eyes.

"I suppose I did say that about living a little, didn't I..."

He nodded, managing a small nervous smile. "Twice."

* * *

She gave a little nervous giggle.

"Oh lord, I have said it twice. I suppose something that wise bears repeating..."

It was lovely to be so very close together while having this conversation. Warm, under shared blankets, in their bed.

_Lovely and… overwhelming._

Their night's sleep together had brought out the scent of their soap, his aftershave, and the deeper, more primal scents of their own bodies. She could smell her sex.

All at once many thoughts rushed through her mind.

_Surely he can smell it too._

_He loves the taste of me_.

She thought of his mouth on her nipple just a moment ago.

_He meant my skin, surely. My _— _my bosom._

_This is absurd. You know what he meant. You know what it is to have his mouth on your hand. Why not…_

She sighed. It went against every notion of propriety, modesty, and shame that she'd been taught.

It occurred to her that it probably went against all that _he'd_ been taught too.

_So do those vulgar words _— and she took a trembling breath, closing her eyes, remembering the unspeakably good time — _unspeakable, that sounds about right _—that they'd had in the bathtub when she'd forced herself to say those things out loud.

_And him, mind. You made him say them too._

But she wasn't embarrassed about that night. She _cherished_ it. The memory alone made her heart clench with love and the muscles of her sex tighten and release.

It had only been a few seconds but he'd felt a change in her. When she shivered, he held her a little tighter.

Her eyes flew open and she gave a little smile in response to his questioning look.

"What are you thinking about, my Elsie?"

She steeled herself. Took a deep breath. _Be brave, Els. Trust him. Now._

She bit her lip and looked him in the eye. Her heart clenched again at the adoration she saw there.

"I was thinking about a fair few things, Charlie." The smile in her voice was intoxicating.

He waited, reaching up gently to tuck her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, then pressed on.

"I was thinking about that night in the bathtub."

"Ah."

"How I pushed you, how you were willing, how… how _lovely_ it was. Truly."

He wanted very badly to kiss her, but instead he gave a little hum. He hoped she would continue.

* * *

.

a/n: And don't we all hope she'll continue... She will, not to worry. Meanwhile, I'd love to hear from you! Thank you, everyone, for the love! I covet your reviews.  
And thank you kouw for your beta magic and wonderful ideas for how this discussion continues... xoxoxo


	125. Chapter 125

"I was thinking about that night in the bathtub."

"Ah."

"How I pushed you, how you were willing, how… how _lovely_ it was. Truly."

He wanted very badly to kiss her, but instead he gave a little hum. He hoped she would continue.

* * *

"And the thing you were talking about — about, kissing me, erm, _there._ It's so new to me, and I can only imagine it's new to you too."

Her eyes held a question, and he nodded.

"It was brave of you to ask it, my man."

Her words alone could easily have been misconstrued as a prelude to rejection. Such a question was easily put to rest before it even arose, however, by her purring tone, her loving look, and her thumb on his lip.

_He looks hopeful_. Her heart soared. Suddenly she could not but beam at him.

"I think —" Her voice caught; she bit her lip again.

"Your poor lip, darling…" He said it this time without fear.

They both laughed softly, remembering the time — seconds before their first kiss — when he'd first said that phrase to her. The charged moments in his pantry at Downton after a harrowing, exciting Season.

His desire to touch her lips was only outweighed by his need to hear more.

Her hand drifted up to cradle his head, drawing him in. She kissed him softly and leaned her forehead against his.

She took another deep breath and held it for a moment. _You can do this, Els_. She smiled.

"I think — that it sounds thrilling."

He blinked, shaking his head, his mouth starting to form the beginning of a "what?" but he didn't even have to ask.

"I _want_ to, Charlie. I want your mouth on me."

He gaped at her, his heart pounding. He could not quite believe what he was hearing.

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "Yesterday when I ran away, I just needed some time to think on it."

He swallowed, flinching a little at the memory.

She kissed his furrowed brow and then held him close, his head against her bosom. He could hear her heart pounding and he closed his eyes, savoring this moment.

"Charlie?"

"Hmm?" His voice rumbled through her chest and her fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"I just want to ask… do you still want to? I mean, of course it doesn't have to be now, if you don't —"

His breath shook. "God, yes."

Her breath hitched in the middle of her relieved sigh.

_It's getting easier to say these things._

She trembled with arousal at the idea of it, and then even more at the sensation of his hand at one breast and his mouth at the other. Arching into him again, she whispered his name and grasped his hair, pressing him into her. She hooked one leg over his hip, her body wanting to open up for him.

His touch was heavy silk as his hand travelled slowly from her breast down her side. He lingered at her hip, running his hand over her bottom, reaching around to stroke her lightly. Her shaking moan spurred him on and he sucked at her nipple, sliding his fingers over her curls, not quite touching her yet.

"Oh my god, Charlie, _please…"_

"Hmm?"

"Please, Charlie, _touch_ me…"

Had his thoughts still been able to form words, they might have been something like — _my god, she's begging me _— _she said yes _— _luscious woman _— _she's given me permission to taste her _—

And instead of granting her plea with his fingers, he gently pushed her leg from his hip, rolling her onto her back. His mouth left her breast and he was kissing, licking, nipping his way down her front, to her navel, past it, kissing the line where her thigh met her belly.

She was in ecstasy; this touch was unheard of, this was — _ohhhhh_ — his hot open mouth on the skin of her inner thighs, kissing up and down, _teasing _her, and she was already shaking in anticipation.

And then he was opening her up.

His thumbs, so gentle, parting her outer lips. Stroking her, lightly massaging.

He was _looking_ at her there; it was so _intimate_ and she was thrilled, nervous, she was — _oh my god, his hot breath on me_ —

And then, oh _then_ he made contact. His tongue, _soft warm wet_ on her sex, swirling, pressing —

"Charlie — er —"

He raised his head immediately, worried, breaking contact. Her body jerked with the shock of it.

"Oh no, please don't stop — it's so good — just — a little lighter if you're right on that spot, please? You're so — your _mouth_, oh god —"

Her words dissolved in moans as he buried his face in her.

* * *

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a/n how are you, darling? thank you kouw for the beta awesomeness, and thank you everyone for your reviews and reblogs. xoxo. happy downton day!


	126. Chapter 126

Her words dissolved in moans as he buried his face in her.

* * *

Spicy. Intoxicating. Wet.

Her heat was overwhelming. Her sex — slippery, luscious, unbearably erotic. He'd not known what it would feel like against his tongue but that smooth skin, _Christ this is amazing_ — and her wetness, her moans, her _moans_ would be his undoing but _damn_ he would die a happy man.

He dismissed the thought happily. _Not death_. This was _life_, this was the place where life began and good _god_ it was incredible —

It was worth every second of torment he'd endured yesterday. Worth every fear of losing her to cancer, or to his own folly, or to the worries and shame their culture had taught them.

All of that suffering fell away as her thighs rose up around him.

_Her pussy._

Another forbidden word. A word for licking and sucking. For soft unrelenting touch.

_Cunt. _To him it felt like a word for thrusting, pounding, for _fucking_. All with the tenderest of love, of course, but _god,_ when she'd cried out for him and told him to go _harder_ he had lost his mind.

_Thank god she likes it._ The heat, the need. The desperation, the thrusting, and the love, the _love_ that permeated them.

_I am the luckiest man in the world_.

Lightening his touch, opening her with gentle thumbs again, he dared look up.

Her beautiful body lay before him. Wide open, one hand on her breast, the other tangled in her hair. Her eyes were closed, her lips plump and reddened from biting and arousal.

She was wrapping her hair tightly around one wrist_._

He tucked that image away to wonder about it later, and deepened their contact again, pressing experimentally with his chin, eliciting sounds he'd never heard before.

He wondered.

He stopped wondering and simply tried it, sucking her clitoris gently into his mouth. Her response — deep moans, arching, affirmations and even a profanity or two —

She was _delicious._

* * *

_His mouth on me. _Her body rocked against him, but he did not break contact.

She could smell herself everywhere._  
_

_Don't forget, Els. He likes it too._

* * *

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a/n how you doing? i would love to read your reviews! thank you! and thank you kouw for beta awesomeness!


	127. Chapter 127

She could smell herself everywhere.

_Don't forget, Els. He likes it too._

* * *

If she'd had any uncertainty about her own scent, his enthusiasm would have banished it. She'd banished her own doubts one night in his pantry, watching as she made love to herself with a candle.

_Good god, he __loves_ _it._

She was moaning, whispering words he couldn't understand.

Her voice was intoxicating, her tongue curling over those consonants as his tongue curled against her.

She writhed, grasping, twisting the sheets. He breathed rapidly, but his concentration prevented any other vocalizations.

_The heat of his mouth _— in rising ecstasy, her hand flew from her breast. Aimless, it landed on her forehead. Her back arched, she rocked against him and he _stayed_ _with_ her and he was _not stopping._

His touch, his _hands_ — heavy, hot, rough and tender all at once. Sliding up her belly, her ribcage, kneading her breasts, rolling the nipples.

She was glorious. Her thighs up around his ears, then falling open, and he looked up at her just as she was wrapping _both_ wrists in her long hair, holding on tight.

He paused.

His curiosity at the sight of those restrained hands. A motionless half-second that she almost didn't notice.

She _did_ notice. She curled up just a touch, gave him a drugged look through her eyelashes. He actually _winked_ at her before his eyes drifted closed again.

Her light laugh turned into a breathy moan because here was his _mouth_, oh _god, _oh _fuck, _he was pressing gently into her, insistently touching every part of her. Sucking at her. Teasing, licking. Experimentally pressing and releasing. His chin, _oh lord, how can his __chin__ do this to me?_ — with delicious pressure, opening her, pressing harder and he experimentally turned from side to side —

"Ow!"

_Damn facial hair. Damn it straight to _—

He stopped immediately, breaking contact and looking up at her.

She was frantic, muttering an explanation, wanting to beg for him not to stop touching her.

"It was just — it was your stubble, love."

Neither was sure what to do next. He wiped his face and gave her a grin that was half-joy, half-nerves.

He started to lower his face to her again, but she stopped him with a tiny shake of her head. She beckoned him toward her, her face unreadable.

He didn't know whether he he was allowed to kiss her with her taste on his lips.

* * *

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a/n how are you? i love your reviews; they give me LIFE.  
thank you kouw for beta magic! thank you everyone for all the love! xoxoxo


	128. Chapter 128

Neither was sure what to do next. He wiped his face and gave her a grin that was half-joy, half-nerves.

He started to lower his face to her again, but she stopped him with a tiny shake of her head. She beckoned him toward her, her face unreadable.

He didn't know whether he he was allowed to kiss her with her taste on his lips.

* * *

So he didn't kiss her.

He pulled back slightly when she reached for him. She frowned a little.

She sat up away from him, knees bent, pulling the sheet over her. The early orange-pink light was brightening to warm yellow, shining on her hair, on her flushed skin. She took his breath away.

"Charlie, what's wrong?"

"I just thought — erm, you wouldn't want to … to taste, you know... "

Her embarrassment. _Oh shite oh lord he __doesn't_ _like it as much as I thought _—

She looked hurt, averting her eyes. He rushed to fix it, words falling out of his mouth —

"Oh no, my Elsie — what — wait, come back to me, darling. Please."

He lifted her chin with gentle fingers.

She met his eyes and looked away, blinking back tears.

"You don't like it. That's why you think I don't want to taste it." She knew it couldn't be true, but it was her fear and she had to let it out.

His eyes widened in shock. His words were a vehement rush, bringing her tears of relief.

"Wha — you think I don't _like _— Els — I — I _love_ it. How could you think that? I _love_ it. I've dreamed of this for — for weeks. _Months."_

Shaking her head, wide-eyed, she reached for him. Her hands pulling him on top of her as she slid down onto her back again. She kissed him once. Kissed him again, deeply.

Her mind reeled at that first taste of herself on his lips. He tasted of himself and her _scent_, and something even more. Like her fingers… like everything. Something even deeper, somehow. It was _delicious_.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if it were strange to think of her own body that way, but she didn't _care_, not with him caressing her, kneading her breast again, giving her his short deep moans.

He broke their kiss, looking into her eyes.

"If I go shave —"

"Right _now? _Are you _joking_?" At his wounded look, she pulled him against her, kissing him hard.

His low hum as she plundered his mouth.

His strong, hot hand running down her body, cupping her sex. She immediately arched into him with a great moan, her thighs falling open.

They broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"Can I…"

"Yes, Charlie, whatever it is, yes, just do it, please touch me, god yes —"

His fingers opened her up, slowly unwrapping the treasure of her sex, dipping inside, and she gasped, moaning, begging him for more and he gave it to her, two fingers inside, his palm moving against her.

His voice, humming, soft deep velvet. Rumbling through her chest as he took her nipple into his mouth.

Sucking, nipping, pressing. He tormented her with pleasure, but he was still moving downward.

Kissing her hip, her thigh, his fingers still gently inside her.

He curled them just so — as his other hand parted her and he took her clitoris into his mouth. Careful not to scratch her with his stubble, he sucked gently on her, stroking his tongue over and around it, driving sounds from her that he'd never heard before. Some of it was Gaelic, some incoherent. Some English, and he strained to make it out. She was crying out under her breath —

"_God yes mo gradh mo ghaol, you're __everywhere__, what are you doing to me _—"

He moaned, deep and long.

"_F-fuck, _Charlie, _yes _—"

Her brogue — _her_ _words__, good god _— drove him further, and he wished he could say something in return but instead he moaned into her again. She'd never told him yet how much she loved his voice — even in the most ordinary settings, he was capable of making tenderness and desire course through her body.

His voice vibrating through her sex sent her straight over the edge.

Her climax surprised her; whimpers turned to soft, trembling screams. Her back arched, pressing her sex into him. Her hands strained against her hair, unwrapped themselves from it. One hand flew to her breast, the other to her mouth. She bit down on her palm, not to keep quiet but to enjoy the pain of it, the extreme contrast with the pleasure he inflicted on her with mouth and hands.

He stilled his movements and made to move away, but her hand, gentle on his head, stopped him.

"Please … stay for a little while, right there."

He gave a little sound, a short affirmation of "mm-hmm" that made her arch again, sucking air in through her teeth.

His fingers twitched inside her and she curled into it.

He adored her. Her scent all around him, her slick heat against him, around him. He still caressed her with his tongue, slowly, making her shake as she came down. Jagged, ecstatic aftershocks that made her breath hitch, made her sex tighten and release around his fingers.

* * *

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a/n thank you for reading. please leave a review if you have a moment! i love reading your responses! thank you so much. and thank you kouw!


	129. Chapter 129

He adored her. Her scent all around him, her slick heat against him, around him. He still caressed her with his tongue, slowly, making her shake as she came down. Jagged, ecstatic aftershocks that made her breath hitch, made her sex tighten and release around his fingers.

* * *

She stopped his movements with a light touch on his head.

Her quick intake of breath as his mouth left her. She exhaled on a long, gasping moan as he gently, _so slowly_, pulled his fingers out of her. She shook with it, her sex missing his touch, wanting him to —

"Come to me now, my man, come into me, come fill me." Her voice a breathless purr. Desperation and seduction in one.

Shocked — thrilled — at her boldness, he looked her in the eye. Either he looked uncertain or he was taking too long, because she called out to him —

"I want you inside me, right now, _please _—" Her voice rose, shaking, pleading.

_Her wanton words. For me, she wants __me_. He shook his head in near-disbelief.

"Charlie —" It was a whimper; she sounded near tears.

She _was_ near tears. Nothing dreadful. Just ecstasy, release, the sudden feeling of emptiness after he'd withdrawn his fingers. The _wanting_, the _need._

He quickly moved up her body, covering her with kisses.

She opened up for him and guided him. She screamed softly — such _pleasure, _nearly _unbearable _— when he pushed and slid fully into her.

His deep sounds of pleasure when he was inside her, and those _thoughts_, those _thoughts_ he used to hate himself for, now strong and loving and real and — _good god, she's so wet _— _so warm, no, hot _— _her cunt oh Christ oh fuck _— and he lost track of words entirely.

She caressed and embraced him with every part of her. Her arms around his neck, his shoulders. Her hands through his hair as they kissed, her legs tight around him. Her sex around his. Contracting. Releasing. Holding him inside her heat.

His _hardness_. _Stretching _her, his pulse so very _alive, _and him so _completely_ inside her. She did cry now, tears of release and joy and fulfillment.

Her silken voice. "Mmmmmmh, don't move." He kept still inside her, feeling her tighten and release around him as she continued to come down from her orgasm.

* * *

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a/n. omg thank you kouw for beta awesomeness! thank you, everyone who reads and reviews! please drop me a line if you have a minute. MWAH!


	130. Chapter 130

She caressed and embraced him with every part of her. Her arms around his neck, his shoulders. Hands through his hair as they kissed, legs tight around him. Her sex around his. Contracting. Releasing. Holding him inside her heat.

His _hardness_. _Stretching _her, his pulse so very _alive, _and him so _completely_ inside her. She did cry now, tears of release and joy and fulfillment.

Her silken voice. "Mmmmmmh, don't move." He kept still inside her, feeling her tighten and release around him as she continued to come down from her orgasm.

* * *

Every involuntary movement of her internal muscles around his hardness made her whimper, trembling, holding him as close as she could.

He was in heaven. Motionless. Buried to the _hilt_ in her. The very idea of it made him jerk, inadvertently pushing even deeper.

She gasped in response, drawing him down to her for a bruising kiss.

When she broke the kiss, her voice was both commanding and pleading.

"Come here, my man."

He paused, wiping her tears away.

"Are you alright?" He smiled as he asked. His eyebrows raised, his face so _open_. Wanting certainty even as they were joined so very closely.

"_Yes_, Charlie." Her brilliant smile in their sunlit room. "I love you. I'm alright, darling. So much more than alright _ohhhhh _—"

He braced himself on his elbows, inches above her. Their chests together, breath mingling, then his mouth on her neck, her ear, whispering as best he could with that voice.

"I want to —"

She thrilled to the sound of his voice, to the fact of him _talking_ to her that way _right then, _while they were _right there _—

Her urgent whisper. "Yes, my love, please, please tell me."

"I want you."

"I'm all yours. I'm yours, I'm yours, take me —"

"I want your — Oh Els oh _god yes oh my f-fuck _what are you doing to me, woman —"

She had let go with her legs to brace her feet against the mattress and now she was was moving against him, rolling her hips, rising to take him further in, sinking into the bed to let him slide out, but only just.

"Tell me what you want, Charlie." Her voice shook.

"I want _this_, my love, _you_, to be inside you —"

Her arms strong around him, her nails digging into his shoulder.

He pulled out, only enough to thrust back into her. Deeply, richly. Filling her over and over.

"Yes yes, please yes, oh my _god_, Charlie —"

They moved so _slowly_ — savoring each other as if they would never have this again.

The heat, the solidity, the _realness_ of him. Her soft screams, his deep groans every time he moved within her. Every stroke bringing them closer to the edge.

Her legs floated in the air. Uncontrolled sounds from her throat. Gaelic, English, long ecstatic moans with every deep thrust, every slow retreat.

He held her tightly in his arms and she wrapped her legs around him again, nothing moving but their hips as they clasped one another.

Rocking together. Pushing. Pulling. For a single moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breath, and then she shook and keened and came undone around him.

"Oh my god fu-u-uck ye-e-e-esss —"

And as her sex convulsed around him, he pressed deep into her. Slow strokes —rhythmic, incessant — prolonged her orgasm and she cried out to him, knowing it would be incredible unbearable excruciating pleasure —

"Please, Charlie, _now_ — faster — harder _please_ ye-e-es yes yes yes —" her screams, hissing affirmations, begging —

And he gave it to her. Thrusting in and out. Faster, harder, just as she asked wanted _needed_, finding a driving rhythm and soon she was screaming, coming again — and it was not to be believed, it was mythical, he was coming _with her_. Both of them gasping, shouting their ecstasy in the privacy of their own shared room. Her strong fingers clutching his shoulder, his hand at the back of her head. They kissed, shaking, desperate for contact as they were completely overcome.

One last thrust, their bodies pressing hard together. He fell on top of her as gently as he could, her legs tight around him, her sex milking him. Her body welcoming him in every way. He started to pull away — he didn't want to crush her — but she held him close.

Petting his head. Stroking his shoulders, his back. Cupping his bum, feeling him soften inside her. His delicious weight on her.

He wrapped his arms even tighter around her and with a few words in her ear he rolled them over.

She lay on top of her big man. As he pulled out of her, she shivered, enjoying the odd — _warm wet intimate erotic_ — sensation of his seed dribbling out of her.

He fumbled for the blankets; she reached blindly for them, and together they pulled them up. Gently, softly, she fell asleep on his chest.

* * *

a/n thanks for reading! how are you doing, darling? please leave me a review if you have a moment . i love your reviews! you too, dear guest reviewers to whom i wish i could respond! xoxo  
and as always, thanks so much to my wonderful beta, kouw!


	131. Chapter 131

She lay on top of her big man. As he pulled out of her, she shivered, enjoying the odd — _warm wet intimate erotic_ — sensation of his seed dribbling out of her.

He fumbled for the blankets; she reached blindly for them, and together they pulled them up. Gently, softly, she fell asleep on his chest.

* * *

Tears in his ears and no way to dry them, what with his arms around his Elsie.

He freed one hand and wiped them away, smiling.

_My Elsie._

He fought against sleep to experience the warm weight of her. Her softness. Her sleeping innocence (_good god, Charlie, you're such a romantic_).

He was, and he knew it._ A sentimental old fool,_ he thought with a grin.

Her hair spilled across his chest. He took a lock of it and wrapped it around his finger, unwound it, letting it slide between his fingertips. He wound it up again and brought it to his lips.

_Twisted_ _round my finger._

He suppressed a chuckle, not wanting to wake her.

_Usually it's the other way round_.

He inhaled.

_Everything smells like her. How's that for sleeping innocence, you old goat?_

The harder he tried not to laugh, the worse it got. He admonished himself, without venom, without any real shame. Thoughts rushed through his head.

—_ don't wake her, good god, you silly man, laughing for the joy of it, can't believe this is real, she's asleep on me , she's let me taste her and she loves me she loves me she loves me —_

More tears in his ears. It tickled and he jerked slightly, causing her to stir.

She lifted her head, gave him a sweet smile, and hummed her contentment as she shifted to lie by his side.

"Oh, but I miss you, way over there." His deep voice was a caress.

She was stretching her limbs, ignoring the cracking sounds in her joints. She turned back to him.

"You miss me? Could you even breathe with me sleeping on top of you?"

"Darling, as much as you take my breath away, I can _only _breathe when you're with me."

_Her _breath caught in her throat. Unable to speak, she rose up on her hand, looking at him for any sign of teasing. Instead, she saw the traces of his tears.

He looked back at her, his heart inexplicably pounding. He asked himself what he was afraid of, but he had no answer.

_So exposed. So much feeling. I've cracked open and it's all rushing out. She'll break me, I'll crumble at her feet and I'll be lost._

But he _trusted_ her, he _knew_ she wouldn't break him. Knew his heart was safe in her strong hands.

She smiled slowly, brought her hand to cup his face. She dried his tears, then touched his lower lip with her thumb.

He closed his eyes, kissed her thumb.

His voice soft, he told her, "I love it when you do that."

She looked at him with those incredible eyes and smiled, happy for the freedom to show him what was in her heart.

"I love you, Charlie Carson. And you ought to know that you take _my_ breath away too."

* * *

a/n... Goobers. They kill me. Here's hoping we get something like this tomorrow!

Please leave me a review if you have a moment. I appreciate them so much! Thank you, everyone. And thank you to kouw, my wonderful beta!


	132. Chapter 132

She looked at him with those incredible eyes and smiled, happy for the freedom to show him what was in her heart.

"I love you, Charlie Carson. And you ought to know that you take _my_ breath away too."

* * *

He smiled and pulled at her, wanting her on top of him again. She went willingly, resting her chin on her hands to look at him. Thanks to the pillows beneath him, he could easily look back at her.

"You are so beautiful, Charlie."

He rolled his eyes with a little smile.

"You flatter me."

"No."

_Her voice is so soft._

He looked at her, not knowing what to say.

"You're magnificent."

He scoffed; he actually _scoffed_ at her words, even though there was no hint of mockery in her face, and it made her laugh. Her body curved and shook with it.

"Your mouth is so expressive. Your lips are soft, and your — oh Lord, I shouldn't have started with your mouth!" She blushed furiously.

His eyebrows flew up. His eyes were wide and he had a shocked grin.

"Elsie Hughes, you little minx!'

"Carson."

He went mock-serious, raising one eyebrow, but his question was only half in jest.

"Are you calling me 'Carson' now? Seems about right, Milady. I live to please you — "

She wrinkled her nose, gave one short syllable of laughter.

"You delightful man. No, I was simply correcting the way you address me." Her tone was mock-serious as well, an audible smile winding through it.

The way she said "correcting" and "address" distracted him for a moment. Rolled r's, long drawn-out e's.

"But I don't mind that you call me Mrs Hughes sometimes. Or Elsie Hughes, even. It reminds me of all our years together. Some good, some difficult, but always — well, _steady,_ I suppose."

He reached for one of her hands and folded it in his own.

She smiled at him, kissed his hand, and lay her head down on him, her face turned to one side. She listened to his strong heartbeat.

"But you've always been beautiful to me."

"Hmmm." His hum was skeptical. It rumbled through her, to her delight.

"I'll tell you why. A thousand little things. Your eyes —"

"Hidden away under these eyebrows, yes?"

"Shh. Don't interrupt me, Charlie," she said, tapping a finger on his chest. His quiet laugh rumbled through his chest.

"Besides, I love those eyebrows. They can express so much. They're — what's the word... _prodigious."_

He chuckled and started to massage her neck gently with one hand, running the fingers of his other hand over her hair.

"Oh my, and your hands. But I wanted to talk about your eyes. There's a ring of brown in the middle and they're grey around the outside. It can be hard to see the color of them when you're being serious. But they can express irritation and thunder, and such tenderness and — and desire," she blushed again, saying it out loud, "that you make me go weak in the knees."

"Oh, my love." He wanted to — what? stop her? encourage her? He wasn't certain.

"And that voice, mo ghaol."

"Hmmm?"

"Your voice does things to me I can't even describe."

He held her close, feeling equally self-conscious and flattered.

* * *

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a/n: hi lovely! Please leave me a review if you have a moment. Many thanks! And big thanks to kouw always!


	133. Chapter 133

"And that voice, mo ghaol..."

"Hmmm?"

"Your voice does things to me I can't even describe."

He held her close, feeling equally self-conscious and flattered.

* * *

"Does it?"

"It does, mo gràdh."

"Hmmm..."

"Now you're doing it on purpose."

"I might be. Who knows?"

"I never guessed you would be so..."

She drummed her fingers lightly on him, squeezed the hand that held hers.

"So..." His rumble made her smile; he had perfectly imitated her cadence and pronunciation, exactly an octave lower than her voice. She thought of his past on the stage.

"So ... Playful, I suppose."

"Oh..." He ran his fingers through her hair again. Winding his way along the shining locks, pausing to press it to his lips again. His other hand stroked up and down her back.

"I think one could attribute that at least partially to relief, my dear."

"Relief?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to have given you such a fright."

"It's alright." He chuckled. "It's far better than alright, my love."

"Good." She sighed deeply and pressed a kiss to his chest. "And the rest?"

"Hmm?"

"You said your playfulness was partially relief."

"Oh. Right. Well — the rest is just the joy of being with you, I suppose."

Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up at him. Her smile was bright; there were tears in her eyes. He brought the backs of his fingers to caress her cheek, nodded in response to the bewilderment in her eyes.

"I love you."

"I — I love you too, Charles. Sometimes I think I'm going to wake up alone in my bed in the attics. Like this was all a dream."

"Oh, I know that feeling." He could smile; they could smile, knowing (_accepting believing_) that it was real.

She kissed his chest again and laid her head back down on him.

"So, my beautiful man, I was going to tell you about how much I love your hands."

"Oh dear…"

"Shhhh."

"Hmmm."

Her body curved into him with her quiet laugh.

"I tell you, that voice, my dear." And she shook her head against him. "But your hands — your hands are very beautiful to me. They are strong and gentle. They've handled the most delicate glass and polished strong silver a thousand times over. They're hands that have worked so hard, and now they get to rest. To do the things _you_ want to do."

She lifted her head and reached for his hand. She looked at it, tracing the lines and veins, then kissed it and lay her face just below it, her hand covering his.

Her voice grew softer; she spoke almost shyly.

"And when you touch me with those hands … you make me feel like — like a treasure."

He was deeply moved and unsure what to say, so he only hummed in response. Immediately he felt it was not enough of a response, because he felt her tense against him.

She began to feel a little embarrassed by her flowery words.

* * *

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a/n she's usually a little more guarded, n'est-ce pas? oh noes, what could happen next?


	134. Chapter 134

"Elsie? What is it?"

"I — oh, nothing."

"You seem... upset suddenly. Is something wrong?"

"Just — all this flanneling. Surely you don't want to hear all of this."

"Oh, my love. My darling girl."

She scoffed at him calling her that.

He pulled the blankets snug around them and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and kissing the top of her head.

He spoke slowly and softly.

"You said that I make you feel like a treasure when I touch you. You _are _a treasure. You're more precious by far than any of the fine things I used to handle." He shook his head, his brow knit together. "There isn't even a comparison. Surely you don't doubt that?"

"Well, no…"

"Are you … are you embarrassed about what you've said?"

She hesitated.

"Because I hope you aren't. It's, er, quite a new thing, being told I'm beautiful. But —" and he tried to draw her back, away from the urge to disappear, to curl up and keep quiet — "your telling me those things is … well, it's _wonderful._"

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"And I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, " he intoned, "that — just for example — I love your voice as well."

She frowned skeptically, tucking her chin as she lay on his chest.

"Oh no, Mrs Hughes," he said, deliberately drawing out the 'z' sounds in her name just a bit, "it's only fair that I get to tell you the beautiful things about you as well."

She sighed, half nervous, half relieved, and listened to the caress of his voice.

* * *

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a/n thanks for reading! please drop me a line if you have a moment! thank you! and thank you kouw as always, and chelsiefan and ojbf3 for PM conversations tonight! MWAH


	135. Chapter 135

"And I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, " he intoned, "that — just for example — _I_ love _your_ voice as well."

She frowned skeptically, tucking her chin as she lay on his chest.

"Oh no, Mrs Hughes," he said, deliberately drawing out the 'z' sounds in her name just a bit, "it's only fair that I get to tell you the beautiful things about you as well."

She sighed, half nervous, half relieved, and listened to the caress of his voice.

* * *

She could both hear and feel it and she let it wash over her. The odd thing was that he was saying things she'd never dreamed of even wishing to hear from him. Her stoic butler. Her impossible, lovely man, afraid of change.

"I _love_ your voice, Mrs Hughes. Elsie." He laughed a little, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's rather a thrill to say these things to you as Mrs Hughes. A bit terrifying, I must say —"

"Why is that?" she asked, resting her chin on her hands again and looking up at him with a nervous smile. "You're afraid the stern housekeeper will give you the evil eye and send you to start the fires and scrub the floors?"

He laughed. "_No_, my love. It's because Mrs Hughes is my friend, my colleague, the woman I worked with for all those years and then fell desperately in love with. Now, will you please let me tell you how lovely you are?"

She had been staring at him, wide-eyed, eyebrows up, holding her breath. Now she looked away with a little sigh, worrying her lip.

He looked at her in shock.

"You don't believe it!" He was smiling, though it honestly made him rather sad.

"Och, Charlie…" Her tone was somehow both pleading and dismissive. Elsie, struggling to accept such flattering truths. Mrs Hughes, brooking no nonsense.

"Well..." He rolled them, gently laying her on her back next to him. "I'll tell you anyway."

She turned toward him instead, covering herself a little.

He hesitated, then shrugged, not wanting to push her _too_ much.

"Oh, but I'm cold now, Charlie." Her little smile.

"You want to come back?"

"Erm, will you —" and she turned her back to him, pulling his arm around her.

_I'll try to listen, my lovely man. But I need a little _— _something. Distance. Space. Och I don't know. _

He understood and he wrapped himself around her.

"That's better, love. Thank you."

"Can you bear to listen to it now?"

"I think so, yes." He savored the little ironic smile in her voice, even though the self-deprecating note of her response tore at his heart.

"Do you remember this morning when you asked me if I like your accent?"

"Yes…" She sounded suspicious.

"And I told you I like your _everything._"

"Yes, you silly man."

He gasped. _This is going to be more difficult than I thought._

* * *

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a/n she's being really difficult. drop me a line if you have time, please! thanks, lovely people! xoxo!  
and thank you always to kouw!


	136. Chapter 136

**today's updates started at 135. xoxo**

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* * *

"Do you remember this morning when you asked me if I like your accent?"

"Yes…" She sounded suspicious.

"And I told you I like your _everything._"

"Yes, you silly man."

He gasped. _This is going to be more difficult than I thought_

* * *

_Els, stop deflecting him. Stop it. _

"I'm sorry, love. This is very hard to listen to, when we're not —"

"In the bathtub?"

She gasped too. Then she laughed helplessly. "Yes, in the bathtub. Everything is easier in the bathtub. Well, maybe not everything —"

She blushed again, but he couldn't see it; he only felt her tense a little.

"I know you're being sarcastic, my darling, but, erm, do you think we should — ahem — take a bath together?"

"I wasn't being sarcastic, love, and I like your suggestion."

She turned in his arms, relieved to have a delay before having to listen to...

_...listen to __what__, Els? What could be so bad about him telling you he loves you?_

_It's difficult._

_I know it's difficult. _

_Ugh._

"But I think we need some sustenance, mo gràdh."

"I do need to keep my strength up."

"Charlie!" She blushed like mad.

"And so do you." He grinned wickedly at her.

She let out one nervous syllable of laughter, looking at him wide-eyed.

He could worry and trouble himself about this, but he was frankly in no mood for such gloom.

He still had her glorious scent on him, she'd told him amazing things he was beginning to believe might be true, and his woman was going to join him in the tub, where he would take all the time necessary to convince her — _with words, mind, it's been quite the morning already, you old goat _— of how very lovely she was.

"Right. Breakfast." And he kissed her soundly, briefly — _oh my god he still tastes like me of course he does _— and got up. Pulling on his dressing gown, he rounded the bed and kissed her shoulder before striding out of the room.

She turned her head to watch him go, smiling. Then she sighed, frowning at herself a bit as she tugged the blankets around her self. She curled up for a moment, trying to puzzle out _why_ it was so difficult to hear these things.

Then she took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff.

_Oh Els. Just give it a try, instead of gathering wool about how hard it is and why._

She rolled her eyes at herself and cast about for her dressing gown.

As she sat up, her hair tumbled around her. Over her shoulders, down her back. She pushed it out of her face, letting it fall over one shoulder. Its auburns and dark browns and well-earned silver strands were lit up by the warm sunlight in their room.

The angle of the light caught her deep blue eyes. It shone on her cheekbones and the curve of her lip. She stood and the light caressed the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the roundness of her hips.

She noticed none of this as she wrapped herself up and left the room.

* * *

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**a/n. **

and they finally got out of bed again  
poor els, she's so hard on herself. it's gonna be okay, elsie love.  
anyhoo, **hi lovely readers! thanks** for your reviews! please drop me a line if you have a minute! thanks! thank you **guest reviewer(s)** to whom i wish i could respond!  
thank you **lemacd** for a comment that made so much sense to me that i now i'm gonna to riff on it for evarrrr. (or at least for a few chapters). thank you **kouw** for being my beta. MWAH


	137. Chapter 137

**today's first update was 135. xoxox**

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* * *

She rolled her eyes at herself and cast about for her dressing gown.

As she sat up, her hair tumbled around her. Over her shoulders, down her back. She pushed it out of her face, letting it fall over one shoulder. Its auburns and dark browns and well-earned silver strands were lit up by the warm sunlight in their room.

The angle of the light caught her deep blue eyes. It shone on her cheekbones and the curve of her lip. She stood and the light caressed the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the roundness of her hips.

She noticed none of this as she wrapped herself up and left the room.

* * *

He directed her to sit at the table, refusing her offers to help.

He made everything. Tea and toast, eggs and tomatoes.

"Thank you for this. It's lovely."

Her hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder and he itched to ask her about it. _Later. Later you can ask her about her hair and if she'll teach you to braid it._

"You're welcome, moy rah."

She wrinkled her nose and smiled at him, shaking her head.

"Not good?"

"In Argyll they'd have called you a Sassenach and no mistake."

"A Sassenach! Ha."

His pronunciation was perfect.

"What does it mean?"

"What do you _think_ it means?"

"Well, mo ghaol, I imagine it means something like a dumb ox of an Englishman."

His pronunciation was perfect _again_.

_Bizarre._

"That's about right, but...why... Why can you do that?"

"Is it strange, mo gràdh?"

She shook her head, blinking. Stared at him. "Very."

"Oooh, I love the way you roll your r's."

She nearly choked on her tea.

"Why?" She was wrinkling her nose again. _Irresistible._

"Do you want to know why I love the way you talk?"

"Erm, I suppose so, yes. Unless it's about me just being some charming foreigner, strange but tolerable."

"It's hard to hear you being so self-deprecating."

He suddenly sounded very serious.

She tutted. "Charlie, _that_ was just a joke."

"Still."

"Hmm."

"Well, _if you'll allow me _— I love the way you talk because … Well, there must be something of the exotic in there, I suppose, but it's really because it's _you._ No one else talks like you."

"That's for certain —" She stopped, seeing the frustration in his eyes. She waited, watching him. She bit back a smile. _Let him talk, Els._

He took a deep breath.

"Your rolled r's, your long e's. The way your d's sound sometimes — can you say "indeed" for me once?"

"Indeed."

"Ahh. Lovely."

"What are you on about?"

"The d at the end."

"Yes?"

"It sounds like a t."

"And this is… interesting to you?" She really did want to know, and he could hear the difference. Her responses were earnest.

"It is music to my ears." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea as if it were fine wine.

"Well."

"Yes?" He drew it out, his voice like silk.

"Adorable man."

"Thank you."

"But how — why can you speak Gaelic?"

"Oh, I can't, darling, not really. It's just that, well, you know I have… a _past._" His voice deepened dramatically at the end. He cocked an eyebrow, smiling at her.

"What past is that?"

"On the stage, dearest."

"Yes, you sang and danced. I rather thought you wanted to forget that era of your life..."

"And juggled, and did impersonations."

"_What_?"

"I did indeett."

"Oh lord, I've created a monster." She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Heavens! What am I going to do with this man?"

"What _are_ you going to do with me?"

"_I _am going to take a bath. _You_ can leave me in peace for a few moments, and then join me. Ten minutes, and you can figure out what new wickedness to perpetrate with your mouth."

He grinned and her eyes went wide. "With your _words. _Words. I mean your words, you horrible man!"

Flustered, she could not but laugh. She batted away his hands as he reached for her. "I love you, now let me be! But kiss me first."

They stole one kiss before she fled to the bathroom.

* * *

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a/n 1: Mrs Carson is quoting from the 1831 version of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus_.  
a/n 2: sdlksahlsdkjhlfkh they are too much fun to write! let me know if you like this or if it's too over the top! these goobers!  
a/n 3: thank you for all the love, dear readers! xoxoxo!


	138. Chapter 138

**n.b. today's first update was 135. xoxo**

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* * *

She turned off the water and checked the looking glass. She'd taken out the braid and rather loosely pinned her hair up. It was not tidy, exactly, but it would do. It would stay out of the bathwater, anyway.

She smiled a little at her reflection.

_Pretty_.

She knew she was. But for some reason, hearing it was uncomfortable. She had trouble resisting the urge to protect herself with an unassailable front of sternness and quick responses.

_Old habits_.

She sighed, turning away from the glass, worrying her lip.

_He likes my brogue._

_He can imitate_ _Gaelic. How on earth has he kept that hidden all these years?_

She knew how. His training and self-discipline were impeccable.

_And _— _juggling?_ _I would love to see that._

She grinned just as he knocked at the door.

A second passed.

The dear man was waiting for her response.

"Come in," she called softly.

He opened the door, his eyebrows rising slightly when he set eyes on her. He looked wonderfully gentle. He smiled; she smiled shyly back.

"Are you alright in here?"

"Yes. Come in, and close the door, else you'll let the heat out."

He did, and he stood behind her as they both turned to the looking glass.

"Beautiful." She could feel his voice against her back.

He wrapped his arms protectively around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, hummed her satisfaction as he kissed the apple of her cheek. He felt her smile.

She was undoing her belt and he slipped her dressing gown off her shoulders.

"Mmm, I love this spot right here —" and he kissed her just below her ear, before turning away, quickly taking off his own dressing gown, and hanging them both up.

"And I love this spot here —" and he kissed her shoulder. "Shall we?"

"Mmhmm."

He got into the tub first, then she sat in front, carefully nestling into him. His long legs framing her, he extended his arms under hers and they laced their fingers together. She leaned her head back against his chest.

"So."

"Hmm?"

"I fear this may make you slightly uncomfortable, but I want to make it clear that your accent is the most enticing sound I've ever heard in my life."

"Oh my."

"Yes."

"Erm… thank you?"

"Yes, 'thank you' is an acceptable answer to that."

She laughed softly, tilting her head against him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her ear, tucking a lock of hair behind it.

"I love your hair like this."

"You do?"

"Yes. Your hair is beautiful no matter what you do with it, but like this — loose and soft — it's a dream come true."

"You flatter me, Charlie. It's half grey and it's —"

"No."

"But —"

"No."

She sighed. "Alright."

"You'll just have to believe me, Elsie. You are a beautiful woman. Stunning. And the silver in your hair is — you've _earned_ it. It's part of you. It's beautiful and — you are like a fine wine, my love."

"You would know." Her soft tone made him smile.

"Yes, I would." His voice in her ear made her shiver, even though (_don't kid yourself, Els, it's also because_) the tone was exactly that of the perfect butler. Deep, velvety, commanding.

She turned her head to listen to his heart. Loved it. Its strong and steady beat reminded her that this was all real.

"I wonder —"

She was enjoying these sensations too much to do anything but hum in answer. But he could see her smile when she turned her head. She was becoming flushed from the heat. In the steam, wisps of her hair curled gently against her neck.

"You are so beautiful." His voice caught; he was overwhelmed. But he had to ask her.

"Thank you, mo gràdh."

Inwardly he rejoiced at her simple response.

"I wonder, ahem — would you ever" — and his voice dropped nearly to a whisper — "let me wash your hair?"

She stopped herself from expressing any of the doubts that rushed to her mind. Took a deep breath. Exhaled, letting those glum thoughts go.

His tone brought a quiver to her voice when she told him yes, surprised by her hammering heart and the shake in her hand when she took out the first pin.

* * *

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a/n. can we please have this happen in canon? please? oh gods, to see them snuggled up together. squeeeeeee...  
**please please leave me a review; i loooove them! thank you, everyone who has been reading and reviewing! you are wonderful!  
**Xoxo


	139. Chapter 139

The lush weight of her hair falling around her, covering his hands that rested on her shoulders.

He collected her pins, dropped them onto the rug in a careful little pile.

_Reverent_.

The word flew through her mind as he slowly lifted her hair and kissed from her shoulder to her neck.

"Thank you," he murmured against her flushed skin.

"Hmm?" She felt wonderfully drugged. His scent all around her, their bodies warm together.

"For this."

A pause. She felt as if her pounding heart would create its own ripples in the water.

"You're welcome. Thank _you,_" she whispered.

_She's accepting this. Thank god, she's letting it in. Letting me love her._

"It is my pleasure."

He inhaled. Heady coconut fragrance and the deeper scents of _her. _Her skin. Her hair. Her intoxicating sex, faintly lingering.

He luxuriated in her hair. Twisted his fingers through it, playing at braiding it though he didn't quite know how.

Her eyes fell closed.

He gathered her hair, kissed it, and draped it over her shoulder. Then he took the soap and worked up a bit of lather.

The heat and pressure of his hands, the slide of soapy skin on skin.

The sight of his big hands on her pale freckled shoulders.

Strong and nimble fingers working out the tension in her muscles. Her head bowed forward, her body rocking gently back and forth with the push and pull of his hands.

Then his warm hands caressing her scalp. Pleasurable chills as he slid his thumbs over her temples.

She shivered; he wrapped himself more tightly around her for a moment. Warming her. She hummed her contentment.

Wonderful unfamiliar sensations. He gently pushed her head to lean forward, cradling her forehead and massaging her neck.

Her quiet moans made him prouder than he could have imagined.

_Gorgeous_.

He kissed her shoulder; she leaned into it.

He pulled her gently, resting his chin on the crown of her head as she leaned back against his chest.

His voice was soft as he asked if she used this pitcher and that shampoo. Yes, yes. The coconut one, of course; he didn't really need to ask.

She tilted her head back, smiling sweetly as he slowly poured the first warm water over her hair.

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**a/thank you for reading! i hope you liked this chapter. it was like pulling teeth! thank you kissman and chelsiefan and lemacd and kouw and everyone! MWAH**


	140. Chapter 140

a/n This took a long time to update (sorry!) because it felt like I was writing the same thing over and over and over again, writing him washing her hair. I bored myself! So, after days of percolating, this happened. I would love to know what you think of it! Xoxo

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* * *

He had seen her washing her hair before.

Weeks before they'd ever been in the tub together, he'd dared pop in for his toothbrush while she was in the bath. He had stood transfixed, failing in his attempt not to watch.

She'd made her hair clean with efficient, brusque movements.

Conceptually, he knew what to do. He knew to wet all of her hair before putting the shampoo in. How to lather soap in one's hair — it was simple. Of course he did it himself with his bar of soap.

He hadn't known that the coconut shampoo would flow fast and cold into his cupped palm, or that he would instinctively warm the liquid between his hands before bringing them to her head.

A thousand times he'd imagined slowly working his fingers through her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead, massaging her scalp.

But he hadn't imagined she might make the little sounds of pleasure he was hearing now. Never pictured the way she would lean her head into his hand, her heavy hair falling to the side. How small she would seem, cradled between his legs. How vulnerable she would look, her neck and shoulder exposed, warm suds gliding down between her shoulderblades. The way the backs of his fingers would brush against the side of her neck and she would sigh with the simple pleasure of their loving touches.

He'd had no idea that he could kiss her shoulder, drink the pearls of water that lingered there when he'd carefully (_carefully, Charlie, don't get it in her eyes_) poured the water over her hair until it ran clear.

* * *

He'd got out of the bath before her, had a shave, and dithered a bit, deciding what to wear.

No protocol, no plan for this in a butler's training. The idea of it made him grin.

_The correct attire for the times after making love to one's wife in the French manner (and then in the usual manner), breakfasted, bathed with one's wife, and washed her hair._

That he felt desire again did not exactly surprise him, but the beginnings of his arousal did— _heavens, Charlie, and so soon after._

He shook his head.

In the end he'd got dressed, albeit without waistcoat or tie. He wore his sleeves rolled up to prevent them getting sooty.

She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her dressing gown and sat down next to the fire that he'd built.

He'd moved through their home feeling strange — cold, hollowed out somehow — without her leaning into his chest.

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened slightly as she handed him her comb.

* * *

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a/n. Please leave me a review if you have a moment; they mean a lot to me. I am so behind on responding to them, and I apologize! Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews. You're pretty dang wonderful.

Thank you so very much, kouw, for your advice on this chapter!


	141. Chapter 141

In the end he'd got dressed, albeit without waistcoat or tie. He wore his sleeves rolled up to prevent them getting sooty.

She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her dressing gown and sat down next to the fire that he'd built.

He'd moved through their home feeling strange — cold, hollowed out somehow — without her leaning into his chest.

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened slightly as she handed him her comb.

* * *

He had more than one reason to be glad of this chance to comb her hair.

For one, there was the loveliness of the act itself. Sliding the comb through her wet hair, gently working out the tangles. Watching as it slowly dried in the heat from the fireplace.

The second reason was that he was dressed in daytime clothing and she had her dressing gown on and as such they were not pressed naked together in warm water and he could form words.

He told her about her eyes.

"It took me a little while to realize they are blue. Dark blue. Very dark when we drank sherry at night. So dark, I thought they could be brown. Lighter, the thousand times we spoke in my pantry or your sitting room during daylight. Brighter yet in the sunshine by the sea."

"You've made a study of them." She spoke softly. Enjoying this. Letting it in at last.

"I have."

She turned to look at him, love in her eyes, and he _melted._ Took her hand and pulled her into him, his other hand at the back of her neck as he kissed her, tenderly, breaking away to kiss her eyelids, her cheek. He released her, gently, and she bit her lip.

"And your lips, my god, if you had any idea how your lips made me suffer this summer..."

"My lips?" Her voice cut out; her question turned to a whisper.

"Yes." He angled his body so they could see each other again. "I tried so hard not to stare at them. When you're thinking, when you're worried, you worry the bottom one. Yes, just like that!"

Flustered, she gasped, drew both lips into her mouth and looked at him helplessly.

He chuckled.

"They drove me to distraction," he said conversationally, turning back to her hair. Combing, laying it flat.

"Well. We both had a difficult summer, my love."

"Did you?"

"A bit, yes. I think you suffered more than I did, though."

"The man's burden."

She snorted. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I felt like an absolute cad."

* * *

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a/n hiiii lovelies! i've been SO remiss in not responding to reviews but be assured i love each and every little one! they're my glorious popcorn trail of deliciousness. so please drop me a line if you have a moment! thaaank you! xoxoxo

and thank you kouw always!


	142. Chapter 142

**n.b. today's first update is 141. xoxo!**

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* * *

"Well. We both had a difficult summer, my love."

"Did you?"

"A bit, yes. I think you suffered more than I did, though."

"The man's burden."

She snorted. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I felt like an absolute cad."

* * *

"Why?"

"Oh, Elsie. The things I imagined. And you have to remember, I didn't know you could —"

"Didn't know I could what?"

_She'll be the death of me with that tease in her voice._

"You know."

"Hmm?" She turned, looking at him innocently.

"Experience… erm. Pleasure. In such a way as to —"

_Poor man._

"You didn't know I could experience a— yes. Well."

_Climax. Orgasm. Bone-shaking pleasure when your mouth is on me, your fingers inside, or — h__eavens, this isn't easy._

She suppressed a giggle, blushing like mad.

"See? It's difficult to say. And you _laugh_, you wicked siren, you _laugh_ at my agony."

"I know, it _really_ is difficult! But — agony, this summer? Och, surely it wasn't as bad as all that."

"It was. Since I never thought you could... _enjoy_ it so, I felt downright lecherous. It was horrible." He shook his head, sighing heavily.

"My poor dear." Her gentle fingers caressed his cheek. "If only you knew the things _I_ imagined —"

Lost in his own remorse, he only half heard her.

"Do you remember the time I walked into your room in London?"

She paused. She hoped he didn't notice the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

"Vaguely." She hated lying to him. _Hated_ it. "Yes. I remember."

"I felt terrible. You were sleeping and I was so taken with you, with your hair in a braid —"

"Charlie, you don't have to worry about it." Her tone was high and strange and she knew it, but he didn't quite notice.

_Make him stop talking about that night. Stop. I am not ready for this conversation._

"It was such an intrusion, though."

_Oh you have no idea. Intrusion. Penetration, oh Els stop that right now —_

She'd never been so glad to be facing away from him. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows flying up at her own cheeky thoughts.

Fortunately, there was no shake in the deep breath that she took. She made sure of it. He interpreted the long inhalation as a sign of long-suffering patience with him.

He started to speak, but she finally interrupted him.

"I know it was a big intrusion for you. And that's why I was so touched — why I _am_ so touched— that you would be that worried about me. That you would cross that threshold in order to make sure I was alright." Finally she dared turn to him. He looked worried.

"No, I mean it." She could not keep her tone from sounding a little flustered. "That can't have been easy for you."

"It wasn't. But I —"

"Never mind, Charlie. It's forgotten." Her voice was soft. Her heart was pounding.

She smoothed the worry lines from his brow, kissed his forehead.

All at once her hair was dry enough and she took the comb from him, making quick work of parting and pinning it up.

* * *

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a/n aaaand we're back! I'd love to see a review from you! thank you for reading! and thank you kouw for being my beta, and chelsie fan for finding my typos too! yaasss


	143. Chapter 143

**n.b. today's first update was 141. xoxo**

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* * *

She smoothed the worry lines from his brow, kissed his forehead.

All at once her hair was dry enough and she took the comb from him, making quick work of parting and pinning it up.

* * *

She was relieved to walk away from that conversation. He was a little bit taken by surprise at the speed with which she was suddenly pinning her hair, cupping his cheek to give him another quick kiss on the forehead, and taking off to their bedroom to get dressed.

He sat by the fire, sipping his tea.

He looked up as she entered their sitting room.

Her dress was new.

He watched her pour her tea. Something else was different. Something in the way she moved. The way she leaned over, the shape of her body was different somehow and he couldn't place it.

He made room for her to join him on the settee. She sat next to him. Her delicious softness as she leaned against him.

He gave a start.

"Your corset!"

"Is gone, never to return."

She grinned; he blushed to have mentioned it at all.

She wanted to ask him what he thought, but she could see he was too flabbergasted just now.

_He'd probably say something he didn't mean._ _Best give it time._

He surprised her, sighing with pleasure as he snaked his hands around her waist.

"Lovely."

"Oh! I wasn't expecting _that_."

"You are lovely, though."

"Hah. Thank you, my man."

"Is it more comfortable?"

"It is, most certainly."

"What — what are you wearing under there?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

His sharp intake of breath at her boldness.

"Now, are we going for a walk out there or not?" She smiled at him, pulling on her gloves.

* * *

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these goobers... it's the corset chapter! Elsie is right sick of it. PL is sick of it. Bye bye, corset!

drop me a line if you have a minute — thank you!


	144. Chapter 144

"What — what are you wearing under there?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

His sharp intake of breath at her boldness.

"Now, are we going for a walk out there or not?" She smiled at him, pulling on her gloves.

* * *

They strolled together. Her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Elegant, refined. They walked through the village, nodding to acquaintances, stopping to chat briefly once, twice.

They were unaccustomed to being seen together. It was an unspoken reason why they had both wanted to go out — to emerge from their cocoon and assure themselves of the reality of it.

Secretly relieved, they saw themselves together. Reflected in shop windows and in the eyes of others.

They took tea and it was delightful. The cozy tearoom. Lovely little sandwiches. Perfect proportions of tea and milk and sugar, steaming in the afternoon sun.

The light came through the window at just the right slant to reveal his pulse to her. Tiny, steady, centered in the V between two bones, between his thumb and the back of his hand. She blinked away the strange biological intimacy of that sight. _Like seeing the inside of his body, like reading his thoughts_. It felt like some kind of unfair advantage.

They took tea and it was sweet torment. Her movements were more supple; he'd never seen anything like it before.

He held his teacup in the other hand and looked out the window. At the table. At anything but her. He tried to push his badly-timed thoughts away.

_Oh but you have, Charlie. You've seen her move that freely before. Whenever she doesn't have a corset on. In her dressing gown, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom — _he swallowed hard.

His pulse quickened. Visibly.

He cleared his throat. He looked up at her eyes, tracking them to his hand, wondering why she would look there so intently.

She caught his little frown and looked up at him, concern in her eyes turning to recognition, then a flash of desire, immediately concealed behind blinking innocence.

* * *

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a/n okay, I really will respond to these reviews someday soon, but in the meantime, won't you pretty please leave me more?  
thank you everyone who likes and reblogs and does all the lovely things on tumblr and here. and thank you kouw my beta extraordinaire (but any typos in here are thoroughly my responsibility).


	145. Chapter 145

She looked up at him, concern in her eyes turning to recognition, then a flash of desire, immediately concealed behind small smiles and blinking innocence.

* * *

There were things to do when they got home. Laundry to collect from the neighbor woman who'd taken it in. Dinner to warm. He carried the wash home and they put it away together. He built up the fire, then nipped back outside to clip roses for her.

She had just put the kettle on and she turned, smiling in surprise to see him with a rose stem in his mouth. _My lovely brave man._

"Is this a Cheerful Charlies act?"

"Maybe," he said around the stem. Then, wishing he'd thought to say it right away, "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

She gasped. "You've got a cheek on you!"

But her serious front crumbled at his smiling eyes and his ballroom pose. She stepped into his arms, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.

His hand in hers, cold from the autumn air. A few steps into their waltz, she could feel the chill at the small of her back, through garments that suddenly felt thin. She stopped them with a soft laugh.

"As much as I love to dance with you, my dear, you must warm yourself by the fire before you touch me again."

She'd pulled his hand from her waist, but otherwise they stood as close together as before. Their hands clasped one another, still held mid-air.

"Can I touch you like this?" His voice lowered as he gathered her into him with his forearm, his cold hand held away, her back arching as her arm draped around his neck.

She kissed him, once, soundly. He dipped his head down to kiss her throat and she closed her eyes, melting into their embrace with a low hum.

Then she shooed him away. "Now, be off with you. Dinner will be ready soon."

"And just like that, you banish me to distant realms." His voice faded as he retreated to the sitting room.

She smiled, shaking her head, watching him go.

_With a rose in his mouth! Who would have imagined?_

* * *

All through dinner, he vehemently refrained from asking her about her new undergarments.

_It would be so __very_ _improper. Disrespectful, lewd — _

An argument between the butler and the lover went on in his head.

_Ask her. _

_Never. _

_Do it. _

_I can't. _

_You should._

_Absolutely not._

_I dare you._

His eyes flew wide open. He'd startled himself with the last one. Lucky for him, she was looking at her plate.

_Oh_, and how he _wanted_ to ask. He wanted her to tell him about them, describe them to him before slowly revealing them.

He kept his eyes above her neck.

She began to wonder if he disapproved.

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a/n what do you think? i'd love to hear from you! MWAH!


	146. Chapter 146

_Oh_, and how he _wanted_ to ask. He wanted her to tell him about them, describe them to him before slowly revealing them.

He kept his eyes above her neck.

She began to wonder if he disapproved.

* * *

They sipped sherry by the fire after dinner. He kept an odd little distance between them on the settee.

It was _strange_, not wearing one. She could feel changes in temperature more, of course, but really _everything_ was different. Fabric moved against her skin.

She silently thanked whatever impulse had kept her doing exercises in the mornings and evenings to strengthen her back; keeping a decent posture wasn't easy without the restrictive garment.

He was sweating a bit, looking away.

"Charles, what is it?" She kept her voice gentle, though part of her wanted to say it forcefully, mockingly. Get it all out in the open, if he disapproved then so be it, but hell if she was going back to _that_ contraption.

"Erm… nothing."

"Suit yourself. I'm going to bed." She stood up.

His head snapped up. Sequences rushed through his mind, some blank as he tried to imagine her new underthings. He feared that she would change into pajamas out of his sight, that she would never let him see.

He lunged for her clumsily, saying something that sounded like "wait" if she tried to decipher his mumblings. He grasped her wrist. _Gently._

She gave a start.

"Yes?" she demanded, a little too sharply. Letting the worry lash out.

He looked wounded and she stood there, her wrist in his hand (warm now from the fire, from stew, from sherry), turned it to make him let go.

"If you don't approve, then I'm simply going to —"

"_What?_"

"You heard me, Mr Carson. I know you don't like change —"

"Elsie."

She didn't hear him, not really.

"— and I figured it must just be a matter of time before I do something that ruffles your feathers."

He stared at her and slowly let go of her wrist.

She stared at him defiantly.

"Elsie."

She pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you remember what I said about it this morning?"

"About what?"

"About you no longer_, _ahem_, _wearing — er."

His discomfort looked like thunderous frowns of disapproval to her.

"Yes?"

"Lovely."

She blinked, shook her head.

"I said it was lovely, remember?"

"Then why do you look so stormy?"

"Oh, my darling." His voice sounded tired and he pinched the bridge of his nose, scrubbed a hand over his face. His yawn was contagious and they stood, sleepy together.

She waited.

"_Stormy._ Well. It's because I've been unable to think of anything all day but what you might look like now underneath your dress."

* * *

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a/n hi hiiiiii. drop me a line please! many thanks! thank you so much for your support on here and on tumblr!

thank you to my MAGNIFICENT beta, KOUW without whom this would be pretty boring and sucky. thank you all!


	147. Chapter 147

"Oh, my darling." His voice sounded tired and he pinched the bridge of his nose, scrubbed a hand over his face. His yawn was contagious and they stood, sleepy together.

She waited.

"_Stormy_. Well. It's because I've been unable to think of anything all day but what you might look like now underneath your dress."

* * *

Her mouth actually fell open, her eyes widening. She looked almost frightened.

He pulled her gently back to him, burying his nose in her hair and wrapping his arms around her.

"I guess I look like _me,"_ she said to his shoulder.

"I would love to see it."

"Well," she said, her courage returning and her smile audible, "and so you shall."

His hands at her waist (he could tell there was still _something_ there; the stiff boning of her corset was gone but some other mysterious garment had replaced it, lower and more flexible), he drew her in close again and kissed her softly.

* * *

He waited in the bedroom while she brushed her teeth.

When she returned, fully clothed, he was asleep. In his pajamas, thank goodness.

_It has been quite a day._

Despite her fatigue, she shivered a little with the memory of it. It was just this morning that he'd tasted her for the first time (and she hoped he would do it many more times, tried to imagine how she could ask him to do it). That they'd been so very close, so tightly held together and that then they'd reached that ecstatic madness. _Together._

She changed into her nightgown, putting her new unmentionables away with a little smile.

_Tomorrow, then._

She looked at her dear man. Candlelight from his table flickered across his back as he lay facing the center of the bed, his hair slightly ruffled, his feet bare.

She got into bed. Propped up on one elbow, she stroked his cheek to wake him. She ran her fingers through his hair and around his ear.

"Charlie," she said softly.

He woke. Confused, adorable.

"You fell asleep on top of the blankets, love."

Her indulgent smile as he tried to maneuver his long limbs under the covers without getting up. After a valiant effort, he found he had to stand. Slipping under the covers, he curled up, moving back to lie flush against her.

They lay together, her chest to his back. Her arm around his chest. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and snuggled in, humming contentedly as they both drifted off.

* * *

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a/n i'd love to hear from you! leave me a review please, if you have a moment! and thanks to the lovely kouw for all of your help! xoxoxo


	148. Chapter 148

Her indulgent smile as he tried to maneuver his long limbs under the covers without getting up. After a valiant effort, he found he had to stand. Slipping under the covers, he curled up, moving back to lie flush against her.

They lay together, her chest to his back. Her arm around his chest. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and snuggled in, humming contentedly as they both drifted off.

* * *

He opened his eyes just in time to see the sunlit hem of her dress slipping down over her hips, down the backs of her thighs. He caught sight of something, just barely. He didn't know what it was, but her suspenders attached to it and … and it was gone. her dress covered her. She turned around to find him propped up on one elbow, sleepily smiling at her.

He wasn't sure it hadn't been a dream.

She came to him then, sat on the edge of the bed and cupped his cheek. He turned and kissed her palm, wrapped his arms around her and pulled, inching backward on the bed to make room for her. She indulged him (and herself, mind) by lying down next to him, letting him wrap himself around her.

His hands roamed, spreading warmth through her. He covered her breast with one hand while lightly kissing her neck, making her shiver.

She stopped him, her hand over his. (Pressing him into her, if she were honest, but she had no time to think about that just now).

"We have to get going, darling."

"Wha — why?"

She turned to him, tapped him on the nose. Kissed him once.

"You don't remember?"

"Hmm?" He shook his head, then rolled his eyes at himself, mouth open in sudden recollection.

"Ohh."

"Yes. And we have to be there in an hour."

He groaned his disappointment.

"I know. But we don't have to stay long."

"Can I just see —" He made to reach for her hem, knowing he would stop the instant she asked him to.

"No!" She caught his hand, laughing, and brought it to her lips, then pushed away from him and got up. "We'll never leave if you do."

He looked both disappointed and hopeful, and the sight made her smile, bite her lip, lean down to kiss him once more, quickly, hard.

"Oh, my lovely man. I'm sorry to say it, but they're expecting us."

"I'm sorry too," and he smiled, squeezed her hand, and got up.

* * *

They spent the morning and early afternoon with Mrs Patmore, Daisy, and Mr Mason at the farm.

It was lovely, really. A very nice place to be.

They sat next to one another, unable to touch. Sipping tea, talking about this and that. It was nice to talk with Mr Mason about the running of the farm. Mr Carson had odd but pleasant questions and Mrs Carson smiled, wishing she could reach for his hand. She could tell him all manner of things about the farm in Argyll; maybe she would sometime. If he wanted to know.

Biting back a smile at the idea that popped into her head, she steered her thoughts back to the present conversation.

* * *

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a/n hi lovelies, please leave me a note if you have a chance! thank you x100000! and thank you kouw as always! xoxo


	149. Chapter 149

They sat next to one another, unable to touch. Sipping tea, talking about this and that. It was nice to talk with Mr Mason about the running of the farm. Mr Carson had odd but pleasant questions and Mrs Carson smiled, wishing she could reach for his hand. She could tell him all manner of things about the farm in Argyll; maybe she would sometime. If he wanted to know.

Biting back a smile at the idea that popped into her head, she steered her thoughts back to the present conversation.

* * *

Odd but pleasant questions from the groom's son turned butler.

He had a child's memories of warm hay and horses. Beautiful, gentle animals as long as you kept away from their hindquarters, which he always did; he only needed to hear that warning once. Big, soft noses. Alms of apples and carrots on his outstretched palm.

He listened to Mr Mason speak of feeding baby lambs. Daisy smiled at her surrogate papa and Mr Carson felt a twinge of jealousy, but mostly pride for the capable young woman who had come so far from the terrified scullery maid of over a decade ago.

He looked at his wife — his _wife_; it still gave him pause even as he sat next to her, here with their colleagues, their _friends_, who addressed her — however haltingly — with his name.

He needed to touch her, just chastely. Just to make sure she was there.

And so he dared reach for her hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. She glanced at him with a gentle smile.

Her hand was in her lap. And he didn't mean to, he really didn't, but her skirt was thin on this warm day, and the backs of his fingers accidentally detected something lacy through the fabric, something new, and he froze —

He quickly controlled his intake of breath, hoping no one heard it. He willed himself to take part in the conversation.

She squeezed his hand back and then lifted it lightly — _off of my leg, thank you_ — before releasing it.

She tucked her saucy little idea away for when they got home.

Even if he'd been looking at her he wouldn't have seen her sparkling eyes or the smile she wanted to give him. She hid them away, her heart pounding.

She kept both hands on the table. She would never have expected _not_ touching him to be so exciting.

_That is... not touching him when I already __have_ _touched him and I __know_ _what it is to touch him._

Memories of the summer's abundant fantasies. She blinked them away with a carefully neutral expression.

_You sure found it exciting then too, Els._

_Ah, but back then I didn't __want_ _to not touch him._

_You don't __want_ _to not touch him now either, you minx._

She was beginning to think in circles with these unspoken words. She suppressed a smile, cleared her throat and forced herself, again, to focus on the conversation.

It was lovely to see Mrs Patmore so proud of Daisy. Rare and wonderful to spend time with them here, Mrs Patmore having been miraculously freed up by industrious kitchen maids and the family's outing.

When it came time to leave, she was grateful for his butler's training when he did not touch her as he helped her on with her coat.

* * *

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a/n thank you kouw for the beta magic!  
and thank you everyone who reads and reviews! you're wonderful!


	150. Chapter 150

When it came time to leave, she was grateful for his butler's training, as he helped her on with her coat without touching her.

* * *

They rode the bus. In his mind he was already slamming the cottage door and pushing her up against it. She would smile and gasp and it would turn to a moan while she draped her arms around his shoulders and he covered her neck with kisses, roughly fondling her breasts, feeling the exact shape of them, moulding them through whatever it was she was wearing under that dress that suddenly seemed so skimpy. He would reach down to grab her skirt, lift it and feel that secret lacy garment, and then finally _see_ it. Whatever it was. And then whatever she was wearing on top, _stop thinking about it, Charlie —_

He resisted these thoughts, not from a sense of shame, but in the knowledge that they still had to walk home once they got to the village.

It didn't help that her hand rested on her leg, one knuckle absently brushing his thigh whenever the bus jostled them.

She noted his discomfort, the subtle tightening of his trousers, and folded her hands together with a sympathetic glance.

He couldn't know, and she'd never expected, that her wetness would start to gather at the mere thought — _in public, Els!_ — of him wanting her.

_A blessing, that no one can tell when a woman is, erm..._ The word "_aroused_" came to mind and it made her cheeks feel hot. She rolled her eyes at herself. _All that reading, and all that... well, that... and you still blush at the word._

She took a deep breath to calm herself. It was more comfortable and free now, but strange. She did feel less supported, but she was glad of her decision about the new garments. In fact she rather liked the feeling of the new one; it bound her in a way that was flexible and … well, rather _pleasant_, actually.

He noticed her secret smile out of the corner of his eye and turned to her.

Mrs Patmore and Daisy sat behind them; only the brim of her hat kept them from catching her words as looked up at him and silently mouthed, _"I love you."_

Unable to return her words or do anything else without being seen, he wanted to squeeze her hand. Instead his hand hovered clumsily over hers, avoiding her lap. She took his hand then, squeezed it in midair, and put it back on his lap, retreating quickly.

He tried to keep his mind on Mrs Patmore. _The Dowager Countess. His Lordship's cufflinks, for god's sake, anything but her._

Finally they were alone, walking home arm in arm after saying their goodbyes.

* * *

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a/n  
thank you so much for your support! i'd love to hear from you again. your reviews give me LIFE. xoxoxo  
thank you kouw! (you guys, the wonderful and generous kouw helped me SO MUCH in figuring out what to have Elsie wear, so give her some kudos if you liiiiike iiiiit...)(i'm so impatient to write the dang underwear! askjhdflkjhs)


	151. Chapter 151

They reached their cottage, she unlocked the door, and they stepped inside.

A crazy urge in his head. _She'll like it, Charlie. If she doesn't, you'll stop right away. Try it. I dare you._

He took off his hat while she set down her handbag, didn't bother with his gloves, and when she turned, he gripped her waist and pulled her roughly to him, spinning them, pushing her up against the door. His hands on her hips held her still while he pressed flush against her, his lips plundering hers.

She gasped in surprise — _not really surprise, Els_ — and she was smiling, kissing him back forcefully, and then he was kissing her neck, chills down her spine, he held her other hand high against the door, gloved fingers entwined.

Her lips swollen, red, her breath short. Her other hand floated mid-air and he looked up at her just as she used her teeth to start removing the glove.

The sight of her_,_ this woman capable of such propriety, now with black leather between her teeth. He stood open-mouthed for a fraction of a second, then pulled at her loosened glove to remove it, tossing it on the floor. He sucked her fingers, teasing, tasting the skin in between. Cupping her breast, pinching her nipple — _through her dress and whatever the hell else she has on under it —_

She jerked, bucking her hips, pressing her fingers into his mouth and sliding her leg around his. He released her hand, reached down and picked her up. Her legs went tight around him, coat bunched up around her waist and nearly losing a button, frantic hands pulling off her other glove, dropping it on the floor —

"Settee," she managed, and he couldn't even respond, just carried her there and sat down. She straddled him. _More_ than fully clothed, _still in her hat for god's sake, _and yet here she was, her skirt hem ridden up to her knees. Breathless and wanting, with his hardness pressing up against her softness, nothing but a few layers of unknown clothing in between.

He cupped her face and she turned, biting his gloved fingertips and pulling. One after the other, with a glint in her eye. His breath caught. He stared, his other hand at the base of her spine, but she arched away from him, taking his glove off and tossing it as she started on the other with her teeth. His mouth was open and she pushed in. Instantly he bit down, just enough to hold her there, swirling his tongue around her invading fingers. Her eyelids heavy, her body rocking slowly back and forth against him, she finished with his glove and sent it after the first.

She brought his hands to the bottom button of her coat, then leaned over him, her hands braced on the settee behind him — memories of a fantasy like this, on the train to Brighton, wishing for contact while she'd stared at her book, that book that had shocked him so delightfully —

And she kissed him, soft and insistent, giving him her quiet moans as her lips nibbled, sucked lightly at his, their tongues beginning to touch.

He was peeling her coat from her. They took it off together and as she reached up with both hands to unpin her hat, he caught her waist, felt her torso with his big hands. His mouth on her breast, his breath hot through her clothing. His palms and fingertips seeking knowledge of unknown garments that moulded her body some, yes, but differently than before.

He wondered whether it had been a dream or if they were really the delicate cream color of which he thought he'd caught a glimpse this morning.

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a/n and we're back! thank you, everyone who reads and reviews, and the magnificent kouw. please drop me a line if you have the time! thank you!


	152. Chapter 152

**nota bene: today's first update was 151.**

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Her hair came tumbling down, lock by lock, silky, waving, all around them. He adored it. He buried his hands in it and wrapped it around his fingers. Sudden memories of seeing her long hair wrapped around her wrists — like restraints, like something he'd never thought of before but maybe —

But she was getting up. Pushing him back against the settee and standing, and he wondered for an instant what he'd done wrong, if he'd pulled her hair, _what_ —

But she kissed him, hard, and sat down in the chair.

"What — why?"

She only smiled in response. She was leaning down, taking off her shoes. Slowly. He was transfixed.

"Take off your coat, Mr Carson. I do hope you'll stay a while." _Bizarre, Els. Maybe too much? Breathe; see what he does._

He paused for half a second, his eyes wide, but he played along, unbuttoning his coat and wondering what to do with it.

She must have seen his hesitation.

"You can go hang it up if you'd like. I'll be right here. And you can take off your shoes too, if it's not too cold."

Her tone was oddly kind, with just an edge of seduction, and he was reassured. He hung up their coats and removed his shoes, and she smiled indulgently at him as he went, biting it back as he returned. He still saw the sparkle in her eyes.

He tried to come and kiss her and she let him, kissed him back, but then she pushed him away, back to the settee.

He watched as she undid the buckles and dropped her shoes to the floor.

The settee and chair being fairly close together, it was no surprise that she _could_ rest a foot on the settee. The surprise was that she _did._ She had positioned herself so that the outside of her thigh faced him. Her skirt was up to her knee and the fabric draped down. Her other leg might be spread wide, or tucked in close under the chair. He couldn't tell.

He took her foot in his hands and massaged it, letting his hand dare wander up her ankle, just to the beginning of her calf.

She melted a bit into the chair, curling as he'd never seen her do before — _not in clothing, that is _— _not with a corset _—

And as her body lowered, her knee rose and her skirt fell just a touch, sliding up her thigh, revealing the top of her stocking and the hint of a suspender. Her other leg was tucked close in, her thighs squeezing together.

His breath shook, which was just what she'd hoped.

It _was_ that delicate creamy color he'd seen this morning. If he'd leaned to the side, he'd have seen more. But he didn't know whether it was allowed just yet and so he took what she gave him. Which was the sight of her leg, the touch of her foot, the promise of soft skin above the top of smooth stockings.

He rested his hand on her knee, watching her eyelids flutter closed at his touch. He heard her breath tremble, saw her chest rise and fall, and realised that she was not only doing this to torment him, but was also shaking under her own restraint.

He sat up, ran his hand downward — up her thigh, gently pushing her skirt up further and stopping when he reached the top of her stocking. She shivered when he stilled his hand.

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a/n please drop me a line if you have a moment! many thanks! and thanks especially to kouw!


	153. Chapter 153

She considered how to go on from there. Her idea was changing form. She'd thought to tell him stories of the farm, innocuous tales, while slowly revealing her new underthings. She'd wanted to watch him squirm, make him listen, not let him touch her —

But she didn't want to do that, not anymore. Didn't want to bring childhood stories into this. Not _during_, not as a _tease._

_Something else, then._

_Ask him to tell you a story, Els._

Adrenaline shot through her as she realized what she wanted to hear.

There were two things, really, but _this_ one, _oh my god Els are you really going to _—

"Charlie."

He looked up at her.

"I'm... I'm not sure how to say this."

He looked worried. She shook her head.

"I mean, how to ask you..."

He waited, unwilling to interrupt her.

She sighed.

"Oh, my Elsie. What is it?"

"Just give me a moment, love. I'll get there."

She took a deep breath, placing her hand over his on her thigh.

_Here goes, Els, you can do it, I think he'll be willing, you just have to ask _—

"I want you to talk to me."

He gave her a little smile, his sparkling eyes.

"About wh —" he began.

"About what it's like for you —"

He sucked in air and held it.

"— when you have your mouth on me."

His eyebrows shot upward and he was caught in a little laugh.

She started to backpedal, pouring out nervous words, wishing she could take back her request —_of course, he's shocked _—

He reached forward, placing two gentle fingertips on her lips. His other hand tightened on her thigh and her body curled forward, her breath escaping in a little moan. She opened her mouth slightly, taking his fingers in, just touching them with her teeth and the tip of her tongue.

"Yes. I will, my love. I'll try..."

"Thank you," she whispered shakily against his fingertips.

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a/n oh the boldness... but her underwear, where is her underwear? we will see it. soon. please drop me a line if you have a moment! thank you so much! and special thanks as always to kouw!


	154. Chapter 154

**n.b. the first update today was 151.**

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Their hands moved together. Slowly, up her thigh, just reaching the lace edge of her new… _something_. He didn't know what it was called, but it seemed to be softer than her corset had been.

Her thighs were still pressed together; her back arching of its own accord, lifting just slightly off the chair. She waited.

Panic rushed through him; he started to sweat.

_Good god, what have I agreed to?_

He wet his lip and looked at her, his heart pounding. She looked — she looked _delectable_, leaned back in the chair like that with her hair pushed up around her. Her breathing was shallow, her mouth slightly open, her lower lip catching the lamplight.

Her eyes burned him.

_And her legs, her new underthings, oh god _— he wanted to touch her, to lift her skirt further, see what she was wearing, but she was waiting, watching him, expecting —

"I, that is —"

He cleared his throat, looked down — _don't look at your hand on her leg, Charlie, don't _—

He looked back up at her and caught the flash of shy hope on her face. He exhaled slowly.

_She loves you, Charlie. You can do this._

_Don't let her down._

The last thing in the world he would want to do was to make her feel rejected, or strange, or — a horrible word flitted through his brain and he pushed it away. _Whorish. _Awful, the word was so hateful. He certainly didn't think of her that way. And if anyone did, well. For one thing, he was not a violent man but he would strike anyone who would insult his bride. For another, no one knew they were like this with each other. It was a precious private thing all their own.

He didn't want to make her feel bad — es_pecially after all we've been through _— and with every second that passed in silence, it seemed more certain that he would.

_Speak, Charlie. Now. Do it._

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a/n i think we've reached an agreement, chelsie and i... they're not fighting it [much] anymore. thanks, ladies, for the support on tumblr about them fighting me! you all are the best! olehistorian, i'm looking at you... MWAH.  
thanks as always to the magnificent kouw!


	155. Chapter 155

He didn't want to make her feel bad — _especially after all we've been through_ — and with every second that passed in silence, it seemed more certain that he would.

_Speak, Charlie. Now. Do it._

* * *

The silence stretched out and his heart was still pounding and he began. He tried to find the right balance of love and propriety. For all she'd talked so boldly, for all they'd done together, it was all still so new.

_She wants to hear it._

_Just don't be crass._

So he began. Stumbling a little, red in the face, with words like "wonderful" and "lovely" and "dream come true" awkwardly falling from his mouth.

He was slowly _(so slowly_) moving his hand up the outside of her thigh. His fingertips curved around to that soft skin of her inner thigh. Her breath caught. Her hand still rested on his.

He felt a little silly taking this way about... Well. About _her_. About doing _that_.

He slid his hand even closer, trapping hers in between. The first knuckle of her thumb pressed against her and she gasped softly in recognition.

He couldn't have known this was the first way she had ever … lying on her front, alone in her bed, cheek pressed to pillow, her hand pressed against her knickers —

Their positions made it impossible for her to move that hand in the way he suspected she might like to do.

As he thought perhaps she _had_ done, and likely with great skill; maybe someday she would show him, show him how she brought herself to ecstasy alone, what she did with her hands when she was alone —

He took a deep breath, trying to come back from those improper thoughts. He blinked, realizing.

He looked at her, really looked at her.

_Delicious wanton woman._

_There is no need to keep this proper._

_Quite the contrary._

_She actually wants to know._

And he let out that deep breath; he didn't know he was holding it. He took another breath, a normal one. A calming one.

_Alright, Charlie._

"I like the way I can smell you on me after."

Her eyes flew open; her body curved into his touch. And he smiled at her. He found his stride.

"I like the way you grab me with your legs and I can't hear anything anymore. And there is nothing in the world but your pussy and my mouth." His voice dropped at the end, a near-whisper, rich and deep.

And she gasped in shock, met his eyes for a second before arching again, eyelids falling closed, listening, trembling.

"Tell me about that word," she breathed. "I want you to tell me about it. Talk to me about that one and — and the other one."

He turned his hand and she slipped her hand away. He was cupping her through the new knickers — he could tell now that they were some kind of knickers, smooth, with lacy edges, all underneath the new... _something._

"What is this called?"

He said it softly, his other hand coming to rest on her hip, then sliding up, pushing her skirt even further, exposing her as he covered the constricted plane of her belly.

Feeling delighted and a little wicked, he watched her trying to find words. "What's what?"

"This. What you're wearing." His fingers tightened, pressing into her hip through it.

"It's — it's called a corselet. Or a girdle. Not a very pretty name, I'm afraid, but —"_ Stop it, Els._

He shook his head and gently moved his fingers between her legs, pressing, just long enough to make her gasp and clutch at his shoulder.

"I love it. Do you want to hear about that word?"

"Yes — tell me, please —" He'd stopped moving and she squeezed her thighs around his hand.

"The other word first, perhaps?"

"Yes —"

He felt for the slit he expected to find in her knickers and groaned when he realized there wasn't one.

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a/n please leave me a review if you have the time! thank you, and thank you kouw for beta magic!


	156. Chapter 156

He felt for the slit he expected to find in her knickers and groaned when he realized there wasn't one.

* * *

But he wasn't disappointed, not really. Not when he could still stroke her there, gently sliding against that satin. He felt the softness of her under his fingers. Her burning heat, her wetness starting to soak through.

He took his hand away. She exhaled rapidly, curling into her chest, thighs squeezing together again, unable to replace him. His hand landed softly on her other hip and he moved to kneel before her.

When she realized where he was going she stopped him, pulled a cushion from behind her, put it on the floor under his knees.

_Her kindness, even now._

"Thank you." And he caught her hand, kissed it, pressed more kisses into the palm and closed her hand over them. He put her hand on her chest and released it, kissing her knee.

"So. When I think of the word _cunt_…" he began conversationally.

She whimpered, her fingers in his hair.

" …I think — of being inside you. I think of the way — the way you ask me to go faster."

Her thighs trembled as his hands ran lightly up them, searching for the clips to her stockings, fumbling.

"Oh god, Ch- Charlie —" she whispered.

"And the way you tell me to go _harder_."

"Oh _yes _—"

Her back was arching, trying to press herself against — against his hand, his mouth, _something, _but there was nothing there. Thighs opening, squeezing together while his hands rested on her knees.

He kissed up her thigh, detaching one suspender, another. He undid all of them, then he kissed, licked, nipped the newly bare skin.

She arched deeply, reaching behind her to undo the hooks. She flung a prayer of thanks upward as the new garment came off without complication.

She'd practiced it many times, hoping for this.

He pulled it away, laid it behind him on the settee.

"And I think of the way —"

He slipped one thumb under the lace and satin of the knickers. Stroked her skin, still far from where she wanted him most.

"W-wha?" Her voice shook.

"I think of the way I can feel it when you _come._ And I think, my dearest love, of how much I love... to _fuck_ you."

Again he lightly pressed his fingers against the satin — against the lush softness of her, that heat — then took his hand away.

Tenderness and profanity woven together, and that _touch, _and then it was_ gone _— it all made her exhale on a loud and unsteady moan, arching, pushing breathlessly against — _nothing_. Her hand curled around his shoulder.

"Oh-h-h god, Charlie," she breathed. "Yes. Please. Tell me — tell me. More. About that. The other one too. _Please._"

"Which other one?"

"I —ohhh" His hand at her sex again, lightly pressing, fingers pulsing against her through the satin.

'I want to hear you say it, Elsie."

"I —"

His thumb, stroking up and down against her sex, his big hand reaching out across her belly, hot through the satin. Covering her, gently holding her down.

"Oh my _god,_ Tell me about — about my pussy."

He gasped. He hadn't expected to feel so shocked to hear it from her mouth.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Charlie?"

"I — Yes. Say it — Say it again. Elsie, _please_."

And she reached past the satin, dipped two fingertips into her wetness, and brought them to his lips. She barely managed speech as he sucked her fingers, but her words made him gasp again.

"My _pussy,_ Mr Carson."

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a/n what do you think? how you doing? i please drop me a line if you have the time! thank you. and thanks always to kouw!


	157. Chapter 157

And she reached past the satin, dipped two fingertips into her wetness, and brought them to his lips. She barely managed speech as he sucked her fingers, but her words made him gasp again.

"My _pussy,_ Mr Carson."

* * *

Her taste in his mouth. His shock at her boldness. Her face as she said it — her eyebrow raised, her head cocked to one side.

He exhaled in a rush, letting her voice echo in his mind. His mind slowed down time.

_Her mouth making that word._

He thought of her lips pressed together, _P. _Opening, a kiss, _U._ Tongue pressed close to roof of mouth, _S_. Releasing, arching back, _Y_.

He caught her fingers, bit down just enough to make her gasp and pull away. He let go immediately.

She only just caught his smile as her eyes closed and she arched again, this time — _thank god_ — making contact.

Both of his thumbs lightly on her through the satin. Caressing, back and forth. Her breath hovered at the top of an inhalation —

"Well, _Mrs Hughes…_"

— and she gave one helpless gasp of laughter before arching again at the slow movements of his hands —

"...when I think of your _pussy_, it's — it's _soft_. It's slow movements. It's — my fingers inside you, and your skin there is _so smooth,_ and my tongue —"

And she grasped his hair, tried to pull him into her, but he resisted.

"And it's warm. And slippery. Wet," he whispered, then held his mouth against her and breathed out, hot through the satin.

"Oh my god, Charlie, stay _there_, _please _—" Her fingers curling in his hair again.

He pressed a kiss there, then pulled back. His smile was radiant.

"But then I couldn't talk to you. I couldn't tell you all about it."

"I — wha? yes —" His thumbs drawing circles on her. Gentle, insistent, then light, and his touch faded away. She whimpered, chasing it when it disappeared.

'"It's a pity, the act itself prevents me talking about it."

She could only moan in response.

"But I still haven't told you, _Mrs Hughes_, how much I want to do it again. I want to feel that smooth, soft skin of your pussy pressed up against my mouth again."

He was drunk on her; he couldn't believe the things coming out of his mouth.

She was far too aroused to be embarrassed, but only months ago she would have been horrified. Mortified. At the idea of, well, _any_ of this._  
_

_And to touch yourself right in front of him that way, to put your own wetness on his lips — _she shivered, almost laughing. Exhilarated, shaky. Perhaps in the morning she would feel ashamed _(maybe)_, but right now there was nothing but them together, and addressing her by her professional name brought back those fantasies —

His hands, his words, _oh god_ — and she wanted more_.__  
_

"_Please_, Charlie —"

He reached for the band of her knickers, eased the elastic down over her hips, her stocking-clad legs.

And all at once, she was exposed. She pressed her thighs together, opened up again, wove her fingers through his hair.

"Mr Carson, _please_ —"

"Hmm?" His little smile was equal parts arousing and infuriating.

"Mr" — her breath caught.

"Do you want to do it again?" He was _teasing_ her. He grinned, the wicked man. "Right now?"

She nodded. "_Please_…" and she repeated it, her whisper turned into a moan as he began to kiss his way up her thigh, not stopping where her knickers would have been, and _finally_ making contact.

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**a/n how you doin', darling? please drop me a line if you have the time. special thanks to kouw! and thanks to everyone who reads &amp; reviews and reblogs. the love, I am feeling it.**


	158. Chapter 158

**This one's for you, Kissman! xoxo**

**nota bene: first update today was 157!**

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"Do you want to do it again?" He was _teasing_ her. He grinned, the wicked man. "Right now?"

She nodded. "_Please_…" and her whisper turned into a moan as he began to kiss his way up her thigh, not stopping where her knickers would have been, and _finally_ making contact.

* * *

Her legs over his shoulders. She felt as if nothing existed but her sex and his mouth —

— _he said that, didn't he, when my legs are around him there's nothing but his mouth and my _— _my __pussy_ —

— _oh god that word, oh god what he's doing to me _—

His mouth, so warm, so soft, sucking her clitoris in, gently, for a second, and releasing it.

_It's even better than the first time _—

So _wet_, and his hot hands on her thighs, rounding her hips, inching up her front.

She tangled her hands in her hair, imagining — _well_. _never mind_. — She simply wrapped her hands up in her long hair, enjoying —

_His hands everywhere _—

Covering her breasts, pinching her nipples — _how easy it is for him to do that now, how easy to curl in this chair, how strange breathing without the corset, how _—

And she lost track of words for a moment as he sucked her into his mouth again, tongue swirling around it, releasing it.

_Cold._

His hands had left her breasts, but she kept her hands in her hair.

Through the blur of pleasure she wondered what they looked like together.

She opened her eyes, saw the top of his head, curly hair landing soft against her thigh as he tilted his head, back and forth. Orange light from the fire, soft yellow from the lamps.

Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, gathered at the small of her back, forcing her back into an arch. Slightly immobilized. It brought her a pleasure she hadn't quite known.

She saw his expression. His eyes closed, his brow furrowed in … _blissful concentration? something_.

"Tha gaol agam ort, tha gaol agam ort, tha gaol agam ort," she could not stop saying it, hissing, sighing, knowing the effect it had on him and she wanted him to speed up and he did, lapping at her, and then —

And then she had no time to bother with words. He looked like nothing she'd ever seen before and the sight of it brought her so close, but he was slowing down, humming into her sex.

She moaned, disappointed, not disappointed at all, thrill after thrill as he made love to her with lips and tongue.

Again she was so close, nearly crying, not quite there —

His hands, grasping her hips. Pulling her forward and she was almost off the chair; it still supported her weight but she was so _exposed_. Her legs around his shoulders, his mouth on her sex and then suddenly the back of his hand against her bum. At the meeting of her thighs, really — a light slap.

Surprising pleasure at the slight sharp pain. Her little scream, her shuddering moan must have let him know she liked it, because after a second, he did it again. Another light slap, and another. Her body jerked. More wetness. The sensations overwhelmed her.

He kept at it. Licking, sucking, one hand rhythmic against her sensitive skin, the delicious sting of it — the other hand heavy on her belly, weighing her down.

He drove her higher and higher and then she _did_ clench her thighs around him, squeezing and releasing as she raced toward her climax, so close to release, so filled with joy, with everything this was _everything, _they were _everything _together —

And at last she came, crying out his name, affirmations, Gaelic and English and crying, sobbing, ecstasy bringing her to tears. One long moment of arch and stretch and then collapse, nearly sliding out of the chair but he caught her, helped her back up. And she pushed him toward the settee, following him. She almost straddled him but needed to be held tight against him instead, thighs pressed together as she came down. She sat across his lap and they wrapped themselves around each other, holding tight as she emptied out her tears on his chest. His erection pushed up against her. She curled into herself, shaking with the lingering pleasure — and the promise of more. The promise of him inside her as soon as she was ready.

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a/n oh my. finally! please drop me a line if you have a chance; I appreciate it so much! thank you kouw as always! and kissman, i hope you enjoyed it! xoxoxo

thanks so much for your support, all of you lovelies!


	159. Chapter 159

She sat across his lap and they wrapped themselves around each other, holding tight as she emptied out her tears on his chest. His erection pushed up against her. She curled into herself, shaking with the lingering pleasure — and the promise of more. The promise of him inside her as soon as she was ready.

* * *

She raised her head, looked at him, and he tilted her chin up, kissed her, dried her tears with a worried look. She smiled, shaking her head.

"I'm fine, Charlie." Her laugh soothed him. "Not _fine_. I'm so beyond _fine_. Thank you."

He laughed softly. "Thank you too."

He had wondered, just before he struck her bottom, whether it was allowed. Whether she would get angry, pull away, take herself away from him. His terrified thrill just after. A split-second thought — _oh dear god, Charlie, what have you done?_

A split second that lasted an _age_ in his mind before her body responded, her scream, her tremble reassuring him. To know that she _liked_ it — he was overcome with relief and pride.

So he'd kept at it and she'd come completely undone under his touch and he could have wept with the joy of it but instead he caught her up, smiling, letting her push him away, happy when she curled up on his lap.

His arms around her, his face against her neck. She was still arching, tensing against him with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Her legs were crossed (she never crossed her legs that way, no, a _good woman_ always sat with her knees together and her ankles crossed), her thighs squeezed together and he stroked her bottom, squeezing lightly.

All at once she she clapped her hand over his, pressed hard, and then moved up to straddle him. Then her fingers were quick at his buttons, her kiss forceful. She pulled at her skirts.

"Your trousers, Charles." She gasped it between kisses. "Take them off."

"Can't," he ground out, and she laughed, rose up on her knees.

"Now you can."

"Ever practical, Mrs Hughes."

"Yes. Take them off. Now."

Exhilarated by her commanding tone, he complied, hurriedly slipping off his clothing. She settled back down onto him before his trousers made it past his knees.

"Oh my god," he muttered. Open-mouthed kisses on her neck intensified her wanting and she rose up over him and they guided each other and she slid down onto him.

Her sudden heat surrounding him — he thrust upward and she moaned, rising and falling on him, arching her back. Falling forward against him, drunk on the pleasure, on him filling her. She rocked back and forth, hurtling toward her release and he was there with her, pinned under her, his hands on her hips, her breasts. Their movements were invisible under her skirt and it only added to the thrill. They were rocking and sliding and grinding together and then with a great roar and a breathless moan they managed it again somehow — coming together, her sex squeezing him, him twitching inside her as he emptied himself. They collapsed together against the back of the settee. She wrapped him up in her clothed arms and stocking-clad legs and he crushed her to him, his big arms around her, tangled in her hair, pulling her to him for frantic kisses on their mouths, necks, ears and then finally they rested their foreheads on one another's shoulder, slowly catching their breath.

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**a/n how you doing? please drop me a line if you have time! thanks! and thanks to kouw! and to imestizaa for the chat!**

**any typos in here are mine! alll mmiiiine!**


	160. Chapter 160

Her hair had gone grey and white — a trick of the light that cast their skin in soft silver.

His arm around her waist, her back to his chest.

* * *

They had separated with soft and lingering kisses, her long skirt falling into place as she stood, his hands giving her support.

She'd changed in the bathroom, braided her hair there too and he _still_ hadn't asked her to teach him how. Whatever she'd been wearing on top was still a mystery as well.

_Softer than her corset. I could feel_ _her through it._

He smiled in the darkness, charmed at his bride and her secrets.

He was impatient to see her new underthings, but just now he was far from bothered about it. Not after what they'd done, and not with her sleeping so sweetly against him.

_Lovely woman_.

The day's trip to Mr Mason's farm had got him thinking. He wondered what she'd been like.

She'd been in her mid-twenties when they met. Beautiful, certainly. Hard-working, unapproachable. Unthinkable anyway, what with his own heart locked away and bleeding out for Alice.

He remembered her well at that age.

But he wanted to know what she'd been like as a girl. On her father's farm, the eldest of four. She'd told him that much and a bit more already, weeks ago over their midnight wine and bread and cheese, in exchange for his tales of stables and siblings and cousins.

* * *

They didn't mind the flannel pajamas between them with the air growing cooler these days. He sighed, tightened his arm around her and she squeezed his hand, still breathing in the deep and regular rhythm of sleep.

Various scents surrounded them. Soap and blown-out candles and sweat. Sex and clean linens and tooth powder.

He kissed her shoulder and pulled the counterpane up over it. She hummed, nestling in closer to him.

He had felt her fall asleep, her hand relaxing, their entwined fingers loosening. Heard the change in her breathing.

He inhaled her scent. His beloved, warm and soft. As his breathing began to match hers, he wondered vaguely if they would soon have more news from Argyll.

Curled warmly together, they slept in the moonlight. Lovers in black and white.

* * *

.

**a/n oh my darlings please let me know what you thought of this one because it took me for. ever.** thank you kouw for being my fabulous beta and thank you imestizaa for the wonderful chat and help with this chapter!


	161. Chapter 161

He had felt her fall asleep, her hand relaxing, their entwined fingers loosening. Heard the change in her breathing.

He inhaled her scent. His beloved, warm and soft. As his breathing began to match hers, he wondered vaguely if they would soon have more news from Argyll.

Curled warmly together, they slept in the moonlight. Lovers in black and white.

* * *

She blinked her eyes open, inhaled deeply, and stretched. Through the window came bright sunlight and the faint, sweet scent of autumn leaves.

Old habits showed their strength as she fought sleep, feeling she ought to get up and _do_ something. Start the day. Not that there was much to do for their cottage, really.

She kissed his hand and got up. He hummed vaguely and seemed to fall back asleep. It still felt like a rare treat to see him at rest, and she let her gaze linger.

Then with a secret smile she turned away from him, beginning to dress. Knickers, the girdle, the brassiere. He woke slowly, opening his eyes just as she reached for her stockings.

"My god, Elsie."

His quiet voice startled her and she turned back to him, the sun on her hair, the braid loose and mussed from sleep. Eyebrows up, she looked at him.

She was in cream-colored lace. A delicate, soft _something _on top with shoulder straps and a v-neckline that made him nervous.

He'd heard the name for that garment before but it had been such a long time, he couldn't quite recall. It had a hook in front that attached to the girdle. He remembered _that_ word from last night, _last night_ — and the memories made him close his eyes, swallowing hard.

Opening his eyes, he could just see the edge of her knickers under the girdle.

It was such an intimate sight — her suspenders hanging free, and she looked… _undone_. She looked like indecent pictures, but she still looked like herself, and the combination of it all took his breath away.

Eventually, he managed to speak.

"So these are the mysterious new unmentionables?"

She nodded. "Do you like them?"

He frowned. "Hmm. I'm not sure. Maybe if you came closer?"

Suddenly, irrationally worried, she took two steps toward him.

"Still couldn't say. A little closer still?"

His playfulness could still throw her off-balance. She caught his smile and went to him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

His hand rested warm on her thigh; she was beginning to get goosebumps in the cool air.

He lifted the blankets, inviting her.

"You're cold, love. Let me help you get warm again."

When she was nestled against him again, wearing nothing but her underthings and with his hand resting on her hip, idly playing with one of her suspenders, he spoke low in her ear.

"Yes."

Confused, she turned her head. "Hmm?"

"You asked if I like them. I do. Very much."

* * *

.

**a/n** **how you doin? please drop me a line. any requests? :D**

**thanks so much for your support. thanks ****kouw**** for being such a wonderful beta. xoxo**


	162. Chapter 162

**nb: two updates today, starting at 161.**

.

* * *

When she was nestled against him again, wearing only her underthings and with his hand resting on her hip, idly playing with one of her suspenders, he spoke low in her ear.

"Yes."

Confused, she turned her head. "Hmm?"

"You asked if I like them. I do. Very much."

* * *

"I'm glad you do."

He nuzzled her hair and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back to his chest.

They fell asleep like that, her industrious plans falling by the wayside as she relaxed into him.

An hour or so later, she woke. She was comfortably warm and very much enjoying his hand on her breast and his lips on her neck.

She hummed and he laid his hand flat, low over her belly. His hot palm covered her.

"I do like these."

"You had better," with a smile in her voice.

"I like the way they look from across the room, and from close up, and I like the way they feel right now."

"It's lovely to hear you talk like that."

She put her hand over his, pressing him into her and arching back against him. Her breath caught as his hand moved further down.

"Can I —" He felt for the hooks at the back of her girdle.

"You can try."

He chuckled softly. Feeling his way, he managed it. He flung his thanks heavenward for her not wearing stockings at the moment; the suspenders would have seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

He eased his knee in between her thighs, then gently pressed his fingers against her over the knickers.

"Oh, Charlie — yes —"

Already her breath was beginning to shake, and he wondered if she could come like this. It felt so wondrously illicit, doing this through her knickers.

She moaned and writhed against him and he reached under her, wrapping his arm around her and covering her breast. The motion pulled them flush together and drove his knee further between her legs, spreading them just a touch wider.

He continued the torment until she was panting, pulling at her knickers and begging for more. He stopped her, held her hands for a moment and then kissed them. Then he started to stroke her again, his touch soft and unrelenting.

* * *

.

a/n thank you kouw! thank you all for the reading and reviewing and the love on tumblr and the rebloggings! i would love it if you'd leave me a comment for this one. many thanks! xoxo!


	163. Chapter 163

**nsfw...**

* * *

He continued the torment until she was panting, pulling at her knickers and begging for more. He stopped her, held her hands for a moment and then kissed them. Then he started to stroke her again, his touch soft and unrelenting.

* * *

He kissed her shoulder and her neck over and over while his hand stroked her. Now and then he would stop, cupping her, pressing shallowly through the satin and pulsing into her. Then he simply rested his hand lightly on her, letting her trembling grow until she pushed against him, curling into his touch. He sucked at the pale freckled skin of her shoulder.

Experimentally he freed his arm from under her and brought his hand up in the tiny space between them to grasp her hair.

She gasped. A breathless "yes," and he grew bolder. He pushed his fingers flat against the back of her head, under her braid. He curled them, grasping her hair, pulling it.

Her back arched as the sensations overwhelmed her. The maddening gentleness of his touch on her sex, the roughness of his hand in her hair and then there was his mouth at her ear, whispering.

"Do you like this, _Mrs Hughes_?"

"Yes —" she breathed.

He kissed her shoulder tenderly.

"Does this feel good?" And he nipped her shoulder, kissed it again.

"Mmhmm —" Her voice spiraled high, shaking with pleasure.

His hand left the damp softness of her knickers behind and moved straight up her front, heavy and smooth and hot over her heated skin. She tried to squeeze her thighs together — impossible with his leg between — and she reached down again but he stopped her, catching her hand and kissing it.

His tone softened.

"Let me, Elsie. Please."

Shuddering, she nodded as his hand kneaded her breasts.

His leg drove further between her thighs and then he was flush against her bottom, his hand heavy on her hip. She could feel his hardness against her and she pressed back against it, savoring the hitch in his breath.

Firmly he pushed back from her, breaking that contact while leaving his leg in place. He slid his hand slowly back down over the front of those satin knickers and between her legs.

She bucked with her hips, craving more, and he stroked her, his fingers and palm loving her through the smooth fabric.

"Elsie."

"H-huh?"

"Tell me what you wish for."

He admonished himself silently; he'd meant to ask her something slightly different but those were the words that had come out and he couldn't take them back.

"I —"

_What is he asking?_

Confusion and blinding lust tied her tongue.

"Tell me what you want."

"I — I — Ohhhh..." She jerked against him.

He had parted her lips and run a finger lightly down the middle, pressing into her and pulsing there again.

"Hmm?" She could hear the smile in his voice even with his mouth closed.

"You're terrible, Mr Carson — oh god!"

His big beautiful hands on her, one cupping her sex and the other suddenly grasping her hair again.

He couldn't believe his boldness.

"More," she whispered. "Please."

"What's that?"

"Inside me, oh god — take these off —"

Both of his hands came down, hooking his thumbs in her knickers and sliding them down her legs. She kicked them off and stopped him when he pulled at her hip to turn her.

"Like this. Can we try it — like this?"

He froze and she waited, hoping.

Then he was moving away. She worried, but only until it became clear that he was stripping. She closed her eyes, smiling, biting her lip in relief and anticipation.

* * *

.

a/n hoo boy. i'm inordinately distracted by the idea of his fingers stroking that soft pussy through the satin. haalllp... I wasn't even sure I wanted them to come off. Oh well! what's done is done. I think they'll have a good time either way :D

thank you to kouw for being my awesome beta and thanks to everyone who reads and reviews and reblogs and all of the things. you make my day with your comments! thank you! xoxo


	164. Chapter 164

NSFW.

100 chapters since the first kiss! Thanks, everyone, for such lovely support!

.

* * *

"Inside me, oh god — take these off —"

Both of his hands came down, hooking his thumbs in her knickers and sliding them down her legs. She kicked them off and stopped him when he pulled at her hip to turn her.

"Like this. Can we try it — like this?"

He froze and she waited, hoping.

Then he was moving away. She worried, but only until it became clear that he was stripping. She closed her eyes, smiling, biting her lip in relief and anticipation.

* * *

He came back, his hand warm on her hip and his erection pressing against her.

"Hello," he whispered.

She turned her head to him, kissed his soft lips, wrapped her arm around his head. He cupped her breast, kissed her shoulder.

Then his hand trailed down her front, warm fingers sliding in between and he stroked her, richly, fully.

"Charlie, oh god — please —"

And she arched back against him, opened up for him and they guided each other. It was different from anything else. Not as deep as it might have been, but to have some of his length inside her after all that teasing,_ oh god_ it was good. Thick and hard, the tip of him bobbing in and out, sliding against where she was most sensitive —

And all the while his fingers were on her. His mouth at her neck, this big beautiful man both wrapped around her and inside her. He was _everywhere_.

Maddeningly slowly, he slid in and out of her. Shallowly — and now and again a deeper stroke that brought moans she would have been embarrassed about just a few days ago.

Not now. She cooed and cried out and then, with him moving that way inside her and his hand relentless on her naked sex, she came undone. He still moved his hand on her, lightly, making her curl and arch and finally she stilled his hand by covering it with her own.

"Oh my god, Charlie." She trembled at their slightest movement; he was hard inside her and she was still clenching and releasing around him.

He pulled out gently, feeling cold outside of her incredible heat. Then he wrapped her forcefully in his arms. She returned the urgency of his embrace, clutching his forearms as they held her. His kisses on her shoulder were almost frantic.

_Don't ever leave me, not ever, my darling girl —_

When his hold relaxed just slightly, she turned in his arms, cupped his face, and kissed him. Then she reached down to wrap her hand around him.

A crazy idea —_ Why not, Els?_ — and smiling with nerves, she shifted, curled down and kissed just the tip of him. His skin was so soft there, so smooth, and she opened her mouth, letting her tongue linger there to taste him. He tasted of her and something else, but before she could explore further he was moving them.

He had jerked when she kissed him there — with excitement, arousal, embarrassment; he wasn't sure —_ the idea of it!_ — He would never want her to feel she had to do _that_ — so he pulled her up and into a ferocious kiss instead. She pulled at his shoulder and he flipped them over, him on top, she opened herself to him and he sank into her.

She held him in her heat. Her heels on his bum, her arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Mr Carson."

Her _words_, her _tone_ — and he was sure he'd gone mad; she couldn't be real; this couldn't be. But she was pulling at him, her lips at his ear —

"_Now_, my man, please —" She was whispering in his ear, barely more than a breath.

He pulled out slowly, and slid into her again.

"Faster."

He didn't want to go faster, not yet; he wanted to savor this woman and he told her as much — she nodded, shuddering with pleasure as they moved together.

They gradually sped up, and then she was clutching at his shoulder as her second climax overtook her. He slowed for a moment until she was ready again and then he thrust into her, fast and hard, her feet floating, his arms tight around her. He came, pushing deep inside her, emptying himself and she took him in, covered him in kisses on his head, neck, arms — anywhere she could reach.

He fell heavy into her arms and she held him close, pressed against the lace of her brassiere, her fingertips loving the strong pulse under his skin.

* * *

.

a/n. I still miss the knickers. They'll have to come back sometime, I think. Please drop me a line, lovelies! I'd love to know what you think of this iteration of teh lovey smutz. (Tell me your smutty deliberations!). Thanks to everyone who reviews and reblogs and likes. Thanks so much for your support!

Thank you kouw for beta magick!


	165. Chapter 165

He fell heavy into her arms and she held him close, pressed against the lace of her brassiere, her fingertips loving the strong pulse under his skin.

* * *

His arm was wrapped snugly around her as they caught their breath, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear.

"Mmm, I love you too," she hummed, kissing his shoulder.

He slipped out of her and lay at her side, facing her.

His fingertips trailed down her breastbone, traced the V of her brassiere.

"What's this called again?"

"What do you mean, '_again_'? Mr Carson, have you been lurking around ladies' unmentionables?"

"I may have heard of a few things … in the past."

She laughed. "You've got a cheek on you."

"Only with you, darling. Only with you."

"You want to know what this is called?"

"I do indeett."

She rolled her eyes at his spot-on imitation of her.

"It's a brassiere."

"Ahh," he said, remembering. "That's right."

"_I_ know it's right, Charlie. How did _you_ know?"

He reached up and kissed her cheek, then spoke in a dramatic whisper.

"You might be surprised at the things one hears in the theatre, my love."

"D'you want to tell me about it? I can handle it, you know."

"I don't doubt it." _Charlie, what are you saying? She's a decent woman _— "I just mean — you're —"

She had to laugh at his flustered state. She turned to him, trying to wrap her arms around him, succeeding in embracing his head and shoulders and pulling him to her chest. She kissed his forehead —

"I know, my love. I'm made of stern stuff."

"My darling girl."

"I love it when you call me that, did you know?"

"I didn't. I'm glad you told me."

"Daft, lovely man."

"I'll show _you_ daft, woman."

She giggled, wrinkling her nose as he drew her into him, kissing her chest, her neck.

One more embrace and they broke apart, getting up to start the day.

* * *

"Really?"

She supposed it didn't make much sense to be so surprised; after all, he'd wanted to _wash_ it before, why not braid it?

Feeling slightly shy, he nodded gravely.

She gave him a sweet smile, handed him the comb, and sat down on the settee in front of him.

The sky was dark outside and they'd just finished cleaning up after dinner.

"I feel quite decadent, not having properly dressed all day long."

"It's no great wonder; we have needed some rest after all of our —" He cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

She blushed.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Anyway, it's been nice. Decadent, yes, but — lovely."

He nodded in agreement, trying to figure out how to go transform the long, loose silk of her hair into the matter-of-fact braid she wore to bed.

* * *

They had spent the day in pajamas and dressing gowns, under a blanket, in front of the fire. He had teased her about her grotesque novels to the point that she had thrown up her hands, swung her legs out of his lap and gone to get _Dracula_. She came back with cold feet that she buried under the blanket, nudging his dressing gown out of the way and warming them on his belly, making him yelp and glare. He couldn't hold the serious look for long, not when she was smiling at him like that.

_Mischievous._

She'd made him _read aloud_ from it, relishing his sputtering disapproval.

At the scene with the three randy young ladies, he'd clapped the book shut and placed it with two fingers onto the table, then turned his attention to her feet. At first he'd simply intended to warm them, but his strong thumbs and fingers were soon working out the tension in her arches, making her smile and sigh.

* * *

"Darling, how do you do this?"

She scoffed lightly.

"It's the simplest thing, my man."

"Oh _really_." And he tugged playfully on a lock of it.

"Yes, _really_. When you know how. And I'll _tell_ you, if — ow!" She smacked his knee — "if you stop pulling it, you horrible man!"

"Sorry, sorry. Alright. I'm listening."

"So you take all of it — comb it down my back, please —"

"Yes, M'lady."

He was rewarded with the smile in her voice.

"Quite right, Carson."

"Ha."

"And then — yes, all of it — here, you missed a bit —"

"Thank you."

"Then take the comb and divide it into three parts. Ouch — you don't have to do it like you do _your_ hair, which I like even better when it's not quite so strictly held down and straightened, but that's another story, darling. Just — you could really do it with just your fingers, I suppose. Actually, that's a better idea. Give me the comb, please —"

He handed it over, and she made him use gentle fingers instead of the hard and angular comb.

"Alright. We have three parts."

"Good, now you take the left one and lay it over the middle one — don't let them mix, though."

"Alright…"

"And the right one over the left one that's in the middle now —"

"Oh yes, quite clear, darling."

She laughed at him and turned her head; in profile he saw her wrinkled nose.

"_You_ try explaining something you do every day, without thinking of it, for decades! Tell me, just with words and no gestures, how you … _precisely_ how you polish a candelabra. Hmm?"

"I see your point," he muttered, concentrating. He'd made progress — the braid was taking form.

When he finished, she held the end so he could tie the ribbon.

It was a lopsided mess that she refused to take out and fix. Her hand curling protectively around it, she held it close to her chest. Lovely in itself as a gesture from her man, it also reminded her of the first times she'd done up her own braid. The way she'd taught Andra to do it, and Andra had taught little Glenna. Drowsily, she counted the days since the last letter. Over a week it was; the next should arrive any day now. She hoped.

They fell asleep facing one another with her head tucked under his chin, her arm around his middle, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

* * *

.

a/n who the hell is Andra?

i'd love to hear your thoughts about this long-ass chapter. happy thanksgiving, for all who are in the u.s.! eat, drink, and be merry. also sign that petition about ferguson and not letting cops murder defenseless kids. oops! my politics are showing. but this is terribly important and dire stuff.

*anyway*... this is a fanfic! lovely escapism. yisss. happy thxgvg and please drop me a line and thank you for all the support! thanks especially to **kouw** for beta magic.


	166. Chapter 166

The braid was a lopsided mess that she refused to take out and fix. Her hand curling protectively around it, she held it close to her chest. It reminded her of the first times she'd done up her own braid. The way she'd taught Andra to do it, and Andra had taught little Glenna. Drowsily, she counted the days since the last letter they'd had. Over a week it was; the next should arrive any day now. She hoped.

They fell asleep facing one another with her head tucked under his chin, her arm around his middle, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

* * *

When she woke alone the next morning, it was too quiet in the cottage.

An irrational fear shot through her and she threw the blankets off her, reaching for her dressing gown. She could barely breathe until she got to the kitchen and saw his note on the table. Reading it, closed her eyes in relief and sank down into a chair.

_E _—

_Went to pick up post. Will be back shortly._

_Yours,_

_C_

She rested her head in her hand, catching her breath.

_Really, Els._

_But you never know._

_But you're living a little._

_Someday he really will be gone._

She gave herself a good shake and put the water on for tea.

* * *

She surprised him with an urgent embrace as soon as he walked through the door. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head, then took her face in both hands and kissed her mouth, softly. She opened her eyes after the kiss and gave him a shaky smile.

He frowned, asked a silent question at the tears starting in her eyes.

I didn't know where you were."

"I left a note —"

"I know." She shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said, her hand resting on his chest. "I just got worried all of a sudden —"

"Oh my love. Let's get you a cup of tea."

"I've put the water on —"

"I'll do the rest; you can have a little sit-down if you like."

He cupped her face gently, then gathered her into him again. His wool coat made an odd barrier against her warm nightgown-clad softness, but no matter.

Then, that lovely smile in his voice.

"Oh! I have something for you."

She pulled back, looked up at him with a hopeful expression.

"Is it from Andra?"

"Looks like it." He reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small envelope with their names and address on it.

"Nice to see us listed together like that, isn't it?"

She nodded, smiled at him.

"Thank you for picking this up." Her voice was soft.

She opened it up — with the letter opener he'd handed her; he was so precise even now, when she'd have ripped it open out of impatience.

She unfolded the letter and gasped happily, turning to him with shining eyes and an open smile.

He looked at her with a slow smile, wondering, but before he could ask, she'd turned back to the letter, her hands steady, her shoulders hunched, her fingers over her mouth.

He had to lean around her to see that she was smiling, tears in her eyes.

"Moira's had her baby, then?" he asked softly. She nodded vigorously.

"A boy," she exhaled at last. "Jack, after his granddad."

"Healthy?"

She nodded, going mock serious — or _trying_ to, the joy overtaking her tone as she read her sister's words aloud.

_"Eating, sleeping, screaming and making a right mess in his nappies, just as it should be."_

She turned the letter over and gasped again.

"Oh —" she breathed. Her tone could mean joy or tragedy; he couldn't tell.

He tensed.

_Please don't let it be bad news; I don't want any pain for her _—

"They want us to come visit."

She mistook his heavy sigh of relief for reluctance and turned quickly to see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

Her heart fell. It didn't make sense, but maybe he didn't really want to meet her family.

"We don't have to, not if you don't want to, but..."

_I want to go and I want you to come with me and if you don't I'll be alright, but why?_

He heard the hurt in her voice and looked up sharply. His expression softened immediately when he saw her stricken look.

Then he laughed. Joy and disbelief, and he pulled her to her feet, wrapping her up in his arms.

His voice rumbled through her.

"I'm just so relieved. I thought you'd had bad news. Of course we're going. I can't wait to meet your sister and her family. I only hope they approve of me."

"Oh thank heaven." She closed her eyes, relaxing into him.

The kettle was just about to whistle and after a kiss on her cheek, he busied himself with the tea.

"Och, Andra, you cheeky little…" She trailed off, muttering something he couldn't understand.

"_If you and your Charlie can spare the time, that is; I'm sure you're very busy these days…"_ She blushed and he smiled at her, his wife with her chaotic braided hair — the braid he'd done for her, artlessly but with love. He hoped she'd let him practice over and over.

Sitting across from her with the tea, he held out his hand and she took it.

"Lord help me with _two_ nippy sweeties around."

* * *

.

a/n

oy, these goobers.

so, Andra's her sister. Wheeeee

please drop me a line! i'd love to hear from you. thank you for your support!

xoxo

thank you **kouw**! finally we are getting to the part with Andra!


	167. Chapter 167

_"If you and your Charlie can spare the time, that is; I'm sure you're very busy these days…"_ She blushed and he smiled at her, his wife with her chaotic braided hair — the braid he'd done for her, artlessly but with love. He hoped she'd let him practice over and over.

Sitting across from her with the tea, he held out his hand and she took it.

"Lord help me with _two_ nippy sweeties around."

* * *

She looked up at him sharply.

"Where did you hear that word?"

"From you."

She frowned, shaking her head slightly. He wanted to kiss her open lips.

"Ages ago. You said your sister was a nippy sweetie, and later," he raised an eyebrow with a mock-scolding tone, "you said you might be one too."

Her expression softened.

"Ah. Yes, well. It's not Andra who's the nippy sweetie. Well. A bit, maybe. But that was Glenna."

Her breath caught on the last syllable; the loss was still fresh. He held her hand and pressed his lips against it.

"I'm sorry I dragged it all up for you again, darling."

She gave him a sad smile, squeezed his hand.

Glenna. The baby of the family. She'd made up for her poor health with sharp-tongued humor. Never had any bairns of her own even though she'd married. Her husband Davey had been a shopkeeper — a kind man, and just as quick-witted as his wife. He'd died of the Spanish Flu in 1919. An uncommon thing for a man in his mid-forties; usually it took the young ones. Heartbroken, Glenna had sold the shop, moved back up to the farm and then just a few years later, pneumonia had taken hold. It had not taken long. It was a comfort to know she'd been surrounded by family.

Her oldest sister had not been able to say goodbye, not really. She'd seen her on her yearly trip to visit during the Season, though. 1922. Just a few months before she'd died.

She thought of Glenna and Davey. Their quiet love, his care for her, the way they used to hold hands across the table.

A crazy, irreverent idea cut through her quiet tears.

"I wonder if Glenna ever…"

She shook her head, blushing. Her hand over her mouth did not really hide her sudden wide-eyed smile.

_I can't believe you were about to say that __out loud__!_

He frowned. "If she ever what?" His voice was so gentle, and her thoughts so _improper, _so _utterly_ inappropriate, that she had to stifle her giggle.

"Never mind."

His eyes widened; his mouth formed something between horror and amusement.

"Elsie Hughes! What are you thinking about?"

"With that tone, I think you know. Whether she, erm — had a good time."

"Do you mean … oh my _god_, Elsie!" He flushed bright red.

"I hope she did," she added, shrugging, tilting her head at him. She let out one little syllable of a giggle and then held it in. Bit her lip.

He cleared his throat.

She stood up, leaned over him, and kissed him.

"I'm so glad I have you," she whispered against his lips as her fingers trailed up his neck and over his jaw.

He was still reaching for her as she turned away to start making breakfast.

He hadn't wanted to curse the toaster in quite some time. In that moment he did. A little.

* * *

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a/n

hi lovelies! please drop me a line; it makes my day to see your reviews and know if you're still with me! xoxo!

thank you so much, **kouw**, for your beta help with this! i'm glad to know i'm not the only one who finds it funny when CC gets cranky at the toaster. Dang breakfast, interrupting the smooches.


	168. Chapter 168

He never knew a baby cardigan could be knitted quite so fast. She made four of them within the week. At home, in front of the fire.

He had surprised her, deftly wrapping lopsided skeins of yarn into a ball before she even thought to ask.

"Old training, Mrs Hughes. I used to help my mother with this."

She'd smiled up at him without stopping her work. "You never cease to delight."

Her smile made his heart leap.

* * *

She crocheted three little baby caps in just under two hours on the first train. Sweet, delicate little things that she handed to him to fold up, put in their case.

They changed trains twice. Finally arriving in Argyll in the early evening, they were collected at the train station by Jack. In a horse-drawn cart.

Elsie kissed Jack on the cheek and introduced the men. They wrapped up in the blankets and set off for the farm.

The farmhouse was beautiful. Large but not drafty, old but with modern touches (the plumbing, for one, and Charles was terribly relieved to hear of it as the November chill made itself felt).

Andra's smiling eyes sized him up. "Well, you'll do, I suppose." Her grin and the tilt of her head were similar to Elsie's, and he looked at her, rather horrified.

"Och, don't worry," she continued. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Charles. Let me show you two to your rooms, then." And she swept away toward the stairs.

They were left standing there, bewildered.

Elsie felt her anger rising. How _dare_ she presume, how _dare_ she put them in separate rooms?

Her sister still knew just how to get under her skin. She turned back to them.

"Come on!"

Her voice sounded so much like her sister's that he could almost hear an "I dare you."

They followed her up the stairs, Elsie giving off an icy silence.

Andra showed them to their shared room.

Sparkling clean and cozy with a crackling fire. A large bed on an iron frame.

She laughed out loud at the expressions on her sister and brother-in-law's faces.

"Elspeth Hu— och, _Carson! _ You didn't _really_ think I would do that to you, surely!"

Elsie shook her head, scoffed, and rolled her eyes. Irritation, relief and delight in equal measure. "Good heavens, girl, you gave me a turn."

"Now I'll let you two settle in. We'll have supper in about half an hour."

"We'll be right down to see how we can help."

He listened, all agog.

_God help me, her brogue is getting stronger._

"Not on your first night here you won't, when you're tired out from the train. There'll be plenty of chances, don't you worry."

She left with another peal of laughter, closing the door behind her.

She sighed. One look at his helpless expression got her smiling, and she took his hand.

"Aye, Charlie. There are two of us." And with her eyes wide, "Beware."

* * *

.

**a/n** i got bored thinking about travel arrangements. boom! we are in argyll!

please leave me a review if you have a moment! thank you!

thank you kouw for beta maaaagick!


	169. Chapter 169

She sighed. One look at his helpless expression got her smiling, and she took his hand.

"Aye, Charlie. There are two of us." And with her eyes wide, "Beware."

* * *

"Lord help me."

"Don't you be gettin' any ideas about my baby sister, Charlie!"

His mouth was slightly open as he started at her in horror. Delighted and feeling rather impish, she held her hands out to him. He took them and she pulled him to her, almost close enough to kiss him, and then whispered instead:

"Och, my lovely man."

She gently pushed him to sit on the bed. Her lips had already met his when the noise registered.

The bed squeaked. Loudly. They broke the kiss, locking eyes in mixed panic and amusement. She raised her eyebrows, her mind already thinking fast. How best to oil the bed frame before they would lie in it together? Running out to the barn for the necessary supplies at this late hour would attract embarrassing attention. Of course she hadn't given the squeaking bed a second thought on her last visit.

He shifted slightly. The bed positively _screeched_ with every movement.

"That's… _loud_," was all she could think of to say.

"Andra's room is next door, isn't it?"

"It is," she replied miserably.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. She stood, slowly wringing her hands. They'd never been confronted with the possibility — the _certainty_, really — of being overheard. It was quite unpleasant.

"There isn't another room, either. They're all filled, and I wouldn't like to ask Andra to move us anyway —"

He was shaking his head. "No, no. Of course not. "

Drawn to him by the softness of his voice, she sat next to him, grimacing at the noise.

"Can it — be oiled?"

"I was just thinking that. We can check in the barn tomorrow for some oil, but tonight we'll just have to be… " She was blushing, her hands folded tightly together.

"Quiet?"

"The word that came to my mind was _celibate_, actually, but that's dreadful —" And she swallowed hard, biting back her rueful grin as she looked up at him.

"Creative?" he pulled an eyebrow at her and she lightly smacked his arm.

"Careful. We'll be careful. Though tonight I don't know… "

"Yes. Me neither. It has been a long day." He paused. "I can't believe we're talking about this," he said, and the spell was broken.

He looked around the room, taking in the few pictures on the wall, the curios on the mantle. It was utterly charming.

"Was this your room?"

"This? Heavens, no —" She couldn't help but notice his expression change.

"Are you _relieved_?"

"Well, I —" he relented. "Yes. It would have been strange, I think, to, er, ahem — in your childhood bedroom."

"It was a guest room. It felt strange to stay in it at first. But I'm used to it now, I suppose. Besides, my room is packed full of bairns."

She raised an eyebrow at him, then stood briskly (_screech_).

She closed her eyes in frustration at that terrible noise and shook her head.

"Right. Let's get our things unpacked."

They were staying a long time — through the New Year. She looked forward to their first Christmas together, hoping he would enjoy it with her family.

He'd agreed to it; she hoped they wouldn't miss the children at Downton —upstairs and down — too terribly.

He hoped his butler's training would help him remember the names of the gaggle of Hugheses he was about to meet.


	170. Chapter 170

A/N I finally finished the family tree. I'm putting it on tumblr when I post this chapter.

I hope you enjoy it! Please drop me a line if you have a few minutes. Thank you! And special thanks to kouw for beta magic and especially for helping me figure this whole gaggle out.

* * *

She'd told him a story after one of their midnight picnics. Weeks ago, when the days were longer and the nights warmer. Having been shooed away from the work of a few dishes, he'd sat at the table and listened. It was not until she was drying the last glass that she realized he was taking notes.

She'd looked over his shoulder and seen her family history in his precise handwriting. It had brought tears to her eyes, and then a laugh when she'd noticed his particular delight in recording the marriage of Elspeth Hughes to Charlie Carson.

And she'd stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, pointing to names and recalling other little details. A broken toe here, a broken engagement there.

Elsie's brother Duncan, who had never married but had gone far in service.

"A butler?" he'd asked.

"No," she'd said softly, fingertips resting on his name. "He's a valet. He travels quite a bit."

"That must be tiring." He turned, hunching his shoulder up, leaning his cheek on her hand, kissing it.

"Hmm. It seems to suit him," she'd responded absently, letting her fingers trail over the name and off the page.

Then she'd turned to him, feeling his arm wrapping around her waist. She'd put her arms around his shoulders, kissed him softly, and whispered in his ear.

"Come to bed."

* * *

_Fiona m. Duncan Hughes, 4 children._

_..._

_Elspeth_ _m. love of her life, the Right Sentimental Charlie Carson, 1923. A bit late in the day for it but no matter, because nothing could be more right._

_Duncan_ _unmarried. Valet. Frequently travels to Continent._

_(13 years between Duncan and Andra)_

_Andra_ _m. Jack Ferguson, 5 children_

_Glenna_ _(d. 1922, pneumonia) m. Davey Findley (d. 1919, Spanish Flu)_

_..._

_Andra &amp; Jack_

_Fiona_ _m. Daniel Murray, 5 children (all boys!). Took over management of shop in village (his father d. 1921)_

_David &amp; Donal (twins)_

_David_ _unmarried. Tailor._

_Donal_ _(d. 1917, Battle of Arras) m. Margaret Murray (sister to Daniel), 1 child (Christina)_

_Janet_ _unmarried. Nurse. Shares cost of nearby cottage with nurse acquaintance (Katie)_

_Moira_ _m. Donald MacLeod, 2 children (expecting 3rd). Live at Andra's (likely to take over farm)_

_..._

_Fiona &amp; Daniel_

_Andy, 8_

_Justin, 7_

_Henry, 6_

_Alex &amp; Ted (twins, 4__)_

_..._

_Moira &amp; Donald_

_Betsy, 3_

_Glenna, 2_

_baby expected November 1923_

* * *

He'd been lying on his back, rereading it. Studying up before supper. He turned — _screech_ — and got up, fetching a pen and crossing out "_baby, expected"_ to write "_Jack, born 2nd November 1923_."

When the ink had dried, he lay back down to study the book again. Returning to their room a few minutes later, she found him snoring softly, the small volume open on his chest. It would have been a butler's diary, had he remained a butler, but retirement had left him with an empty, beautifully bound book.

She gently took it from his hands, marked the page with the ribbon, and lay down with him.

Some time later, Andra came to fetch them for dinner, having heard no response to her call. She paused in the doorway, stopping short at the sight of them.

_Finally_.

She'd heard about that big butler for _years._ Never anything improper, and never ever mentioning feelings beyond collegial friendship. She'd wondered if there might be something there, and the letter telling of their marriage confirmed it to some extent. The gradual change in tone in Elsie's subsequent letters had indicated to Andra that this was more than a marriage of convenience.

But it was indescribably lovely to see her sister now. Her face was in the crook of his neck, his nose in her hair. Her arm was curved around his middle and his hand covered hers. She couldn't see the little book in Elsie's other hand, nestled between them.

She decided to let them sleep just a few minutes longer.


	171. Chapter 171

**a/n Thank you so much for your responses to the last chapter and the family tree! I'm happily overwhelmed. And thank you especially to kouw for beta magic and wonderful support!**

**Here's a fluffy little chapter for you. MWAH**

* * *

Andra quietly pulled their door to, then knocked.

He woke, momentarily confused. She smiled, held him tighter for a moment, then stretched, nearly dropping his diary as she turned.

"Ah. You've seen my studious efforts." His voice was thick with sleep.

"I have indeed, mo gràdh. Tonight you probably won't see many of them, though, so you've got a little time yet."

They got up (_screech_), checked their hair in the looking glass, and made their way downstairs to supper with Jack and Andra, who kept things quiet for the sake of their tired guests.

* * *

Andra forbade them to help with the washing up, with exclamations of "Och, Els, you are asleep on your feet!" and the like.

She'd run them a bath and they indulged happily (one after the other, of course — it would _not_ do to bathe together in her sister's house, even though the tub could have held them both).

They returned to their room in pajamas and dressing gowns. She let him braid her hair; he was getting a bit better at it but it still looked like a sweet, childish thing.

"It's good we're wearing something, Charlie," she said through a yawn.

He looked at her in confusion. "Well, of course, I mean, we weren't going to..." He trailed off.

She laughed, waving her hand.

"Ah. My darling man, Charlie. I'm not even talking about that. You'll see."

They climbed into bed, a thousand irritating noises announcing their movements.

"Are you suggesting we'll be attacked by a mob of little children in the morning?"

"Well, I couldn't say for sure how many."

He chuckled at that. They lay facing one another and he kissed her, soft and lingering, his big hand around the back of her head. He caressed her ear, her cheek, and let his hand rest on her shoulder.

"I'm happy to be here. Let the bairns do what they will."

He'd said it in her accent. She rolled her eyes and kissed his hand.

"You may regret such a challenge, Charlie, but I won't tell. You're probably the biggest man they've ever seen. They'll climb all over you."

"I have been forewarned," he intoned, mock-serious.

She wrapped her free arm around him and kissed him, then he tucked her into his embrace, her head under his chin. Exhausted and cozy together, they fell asleep.


	172. Chapter 172

"I'm happy to be here. Let the bairns do what they will."

He'd said it in her accent. She rolled her eyes.

"You may regret such a challenge, Charlie, but I won't tell. You're probably the biggest man they've ever seen. They'll climb all over you."

"I have been forewarned," he intoned, mock-serious.

She wrapped her free arm around him and kissed him, then he tucked her into his embrace, her head under his chin. Exhausted and cozy together, they fell asleep.

* * *

A knock, then the door opened quietly and a young woman's soft voice said, "Alright, you can go see them now."

"Auntie Elsie!"

Bleary-eyed, he lifted his head just in time to see a lightning-quick little blur of running feet, nightgown, and a mess of dark brown curls climbing up onto their bed, the springs squeaking with her bouncing. Another tiny one lingered in the doorway, her thumb in her mouth.

"Hello, you," he said softly to the tiny one, leaning up on his elbow. "You're Glenna, aren't you?" Her eyes widened and she hid behind the door.

Elsie lay on her side, feigning sleep.

The girl clambered on top of her and wrapped her little arms around her as much as she could over the blanket.

Elsie gave a big snore.

He watched in delight as the child sang, "Auntie Elsie, wake up!"

The child's brogue combined with her inability to say L's (they all came out as W's) melted his heart more than he'd thought possible. Suddenly he imagined little ones like this one calling her _mama_ instead. And he would have been _papa_. Or maybe _da._ He blinked rapidly.

Elsie burrowed further under the covers, hiding her face. She scooted back toward him, making room for the little one.

The child ignored Charles, pulling up the covers and snuggling in on the other side of Elsie, who threw the blanket off her face with a gasp.

"Who's disturbed my slumber? Who's this little bear with the icy feet?

A high-pitched giggle and a squirm from under the blankets.

Of course he'd never heard her talk this way before. Oh, there were the moments when she'd smiled at Miss Sybbie and when she'd spoken to little children from the village but _this…_

Overwhelmed, he had no words for it. His heart pounded. He was filled with both contentment and impossible longing.

"Is that... a _Betsy_? It can't be! This little girl is too big and strong! The last time I saw Betsy, she was smaller. So who could it _be_?"

A child's whisper: "Betsy!"

She squeezed the little one tight, peppering her cheek with kisses.

"Is it _really? _It _is_ a Betsy, isn't it? Well! Good _morning_, my Betsy-petal. I'm glad you've come to see me! Do you know," she began, a dramatic hush to her voice, "I brought someone with me this time?"

Then she rolled onto her back, taking the child with her.

Her arms wrapped snugly around the little one, she smiled up at her husband, who suddenly seemed pensive. Her expression softened and she bit her lip before mouthing "_I love you_" to him.

"I love you too," he whispered.

Betsy poked her head out and looked at Charles with big blue eyes.

"Hello," he said softly.

She hid her face again, this time in the crook of Elsie's neck, her hair tumbling all over. Then she peeked up again, looking at him shyly with her chin tucked down. He was astonished at the resemblance to her great-aunt, but there was something else about her. She looked a bit like Miss Sybil had at that age. And _Lady_ Sybil, for that matter.

"Are you Uncle Charlie?"

_Unco Chahdie._ He couldn't have quite explained why it made him feel so proud.

He nodded gravely, a smile in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I am."

* * *

a/n thank you for sticking with me! Please drop me a line if you have a moment. thanks especially to kouw for beta awesomeness!


	173. Chapter 173

"Are you Uncle Charlie?"

_Unco Chahdie._ He couldn't have quite explained why it made him feel so proud.

He nodded gravely, a smile in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I am."

* * *

"Are you new?" Her already high little voice rose dramatically, extending the last syllable as she looked at him solemnly.

He laughed a little.

"Yes, I suppose I am new. Are _you_ new?"

"_I'm_ not new. I have a little sister and a baby brother."

_Beeby b'duvvah._

"Why, then you're a big sister, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm Betsy. This is _my Auntie Elsie_."

"It's very nice to meet you, Betsy. And I love your Auntie Elsie very, very much."

Betsy's response made them both stare, wide-eyed and amused. She'd clearly been taught the proper words, but the childish delivery seemed to empty them of their meaning as she announced:

"It —is — very — nice — to — meet — you — too —"

Each word had equal emphasis, with pauses in between. Then she dissolved in giggles, her head landing hard on Elsie's collarbone.

Betsy was unfazed, but Elsie sucked air in rapidly through her teeth. Charles winced, instinctively wanting to protect her and knowing the little thing hadn't hurt her on purpose.

But Elsie already had it well in hand: "_Ouch!_ oh, petal, you are stronger than you think. You've got to be gentle with that head of yours on your Auntie Elsie's bones, alright?"

"Sorry," came a tiny muffled voice. Elsie rolled over to lay her between Charles and herself and rubbed her hand gently over her collarbone.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at her collarbone.

Which was exposed, her nightgown not buttoned particularly high anymore. With her lying on her side like that, he could see part of the swell of her breast.

_She is so beautiful_.

"I'm alright, Charlie. I might put something cold on it in a minute —"

She looked up at him again, saw his eyes flick away from her chest, and blushed.

He firmly and immediately stopped himself thinking that way.

She turned back to to Betsy. "You're forgiven, love. Just be careful, please. Can you do that for me?"

Betsy nodded, and Elsie cuddled her again, kissing her forehead. "Thank you, Betsy. Now then! I _think..._ I can't be _entirely _sure, but I _think,_ maybe I _imagined _I saw another wee thing peeking around the door. Maybe someone else wants to meet her new Uncle Charlie?"

Glenna's curly hair was just visible behind the door. She didn't move.

"Glenna?" Elsie called softly.

Glenna looked in and smiled tentatively around her thumb. She still lingered in the doorway.

Betsy squirmed out from between them, dropped to the floor, and ran to her little sister, who looked alarmed. Betsy was tall for her age and Glenna was small, which allowed Betsy to pick her up, holding her like a sack of potatoes and clumsily hauling her in the direction of the bed.

Glenna yanked her thumb out of her mouth. "Nonono!"

Glenna tried to wriggle out of her sister's grasp, then went limp and Betsy dropped her on the floor. Glenna started to cry angrily. It was impossible that the fall from such a short height would have hurt her, but she was clearly in no mood to be manhandled by her sister.

Betsy stood, hands on hips, annoyed.

Charles held back laughter at Betsy's pose, which looked _very_ familiar. Betsy huffed once and folded her arms over her chest, then turned around, clearly headed back for the cozy bed.

"Now, Betsy-love," Elsie began sternly, carefully controlling her laughter at the absurdity, "you can't just pick up your sister when she doesn't want you to pick her up. Or drop her on the floor and then leave her there crying. That is not a very nice big-sister thing to do. Go and say you're sorry and give her a kiss."

Betsy scowled at Elsie for a second. Elsie looked back at her, unwavering, one eyebrow raised. Then Betsy giggled, went back to Glenna and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Glenna calmed down somewhat, little tears still shining on her cheeks.

"Sorry, Glenna," she whispered (_sodie Gwenna)._

Then she jumped up, startling Glenna, who began to cry again.

Elsie sighed and started to get out of bed. He stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm and a question in his eyes.

"Go on, then," she told him softly with a smile.

He got up and walked around the bed to get to Glenna. He didn't notice that Betsy now stood next to Elsie, who petted her curly head while she stared wide-eyed at the giant who suddenly seemed to fill the room.

He bent way down to pick Glenna up, his knees cracking.

"Hello little love," he intoned soothingly as he held her, one giant hand across her little back to steady her, and her wee hand on his shoulder. She immediately stopped crying and looked at him curiously.

He bounced her once, twice. She weighed next to nothing in his arms. He continued to bounce her, his eyebrows up, his expression gentle as he asked her silly little questions. She began to smile at him.

Elsie watched her beautiful husband working a magic she'd never seen from him before.

She'd seen him holding Miss Sybil once, and she knew he could soften Lady Mary somewhat. But never had she seen him calm a crying child.

She let herself imagine how it might have been.

* * *

**.**

**a/n Please leave me a review if you have a moment. Thank you! And special thanks always to kouw!**


	174. Chapter 174

Elsie watched her beautiful husband working a magic she'd never seen from him before.

She'd seen him holding Miss Sybil once, and she knew he could soften Lady Mary. But never had she seen him calm a crying child.

She let herself imagine how it might have been.

Her eyes stung suddenly; she bit her lips together and took a deep breath. She tried not to blink.

He was absorbed with Glenna, pointing at something through the window. Elsie watched him in profile. She swallowed hard, momentarily glad he was paying her no attention.

A younger version of him danced in her mind, bouncing a baby she'd nursed herself. Thinner — he'd been a right beanpole; she had to smile at the memory — his curly hair much darker and _very _strictly controlled, his nose just as impressive, his eyes as beautiful as they were now. Those soft lips…

… had usually been set in a hard line.

She reminded herself again that he had been impossible back then. Torn-faced, truly. Pining for Alice, as she now knew — and he'd thrown himself into work, worshiping the family, disapproving of everything.

It just hadn't been on the cards for them.

_But_ — Her heart protested. If they'd managed it _sooner_ somehow — if they'd known each other as well then as they did now — if he'd been different, if she'd been different… if she'd been like Alice, maybe...

_Alice. What a fool. I would never have left him for the likes of Mr Grigg. Not for anyone._

She was rather shocked at herself, thinking ill of the dead. Besides, in the end she was glad for Alice's folly.

"Auntie Elsie?"

She'd been staring at the window, biting her lip. With tiny shake of her head, she snapped back to the present.

"Yes! Yes, Betsy-petal, I think it's time for breakfast." Her voice was a little unsteady and a bit too bright.

She avoided his eyes as she put on her dressing gown, letting a very chatty Betsy try to drag her out of the room.

In passing, she placed her hand over his on Glenna's back.

* * *

**a/n** **Thanks for your support! Please leave me a review if you have a moment. Special thanks to kouw as always!**


	175. Chapter 175

**a/n first update today was 174. whee!**

* * *

He stood holding Glenna, wondering if he'd done something wrong.

Her fingers trailing off his wrist, she'd left the room with her head down as she sometimes used to do.

As she sometimes used to do when he'd hurt her.

Glenna wiggled. "Down."

His eyebrows shot up and he smiled at her. "Very well, Milady," he intoned as he set her on her feet. She toddled off and he stood thinking for a moment, looking out the window in his pajamas and mussed hair, before putting on his own dressing gown.

He could already hear his wife's happy exclamations as she greeted her family. Taking a deep breath and vowing to ask her later what had upset her, he left the room.

* * *

Sunday breakfast in Andra's kitchen reminded him of the Servants' Hall at teatime, back before the War. Young people filling the room with noise and energy.

Only now, he didn't have to shush anyone.

Moira and the baby were asleep, but Jack and Andra were there, and Moira's husband Donald, with Betsy and Glenna. Donal's widow Margaret was there with Christina, who at seven seemed like a sweet lass. She sat between her mama and Elsie, smiling and responding quietly when her great-aunt asked her all about her kitten and her frog pond and her books.

To Charles's delight, Betsy had climbed onto his lap and was now stealing his toast. Elsie held Glenna, feeding her bites of egg.

Janet was there helping with the children; her friend and fellow nurse Katie was away visiting her sister. Andra had told Elsie and Charles over dinner that Katie was close with the family and often joined Janet when she visited. She'd assured them that they would meet her eventually, and that a nicer girl there never was.

Janet looked at Elsie and Charles apologetically.

"We do teach them better table manners, but they're just so excited to see you."

"I know you do, love," responded Elsie. "_Uncle Charlie_ is being uncharacteristically lax about enforcing such things just now. If this had happened back at Downton, you'd have seen thunder and blustering, no doubt."

They both looked at him, Elsie with a mischievous raised eyebrow and Janet with puzzled interest.

Betsy happened to have been listening to Elsie just then and turned to look up at Charles.

"Thunder and blustering?" (_Funddodand bwusteding_; it was delightful the way she spoke)

"Yes," he said solemnly.

"What's that?"

He broke character and said lightly, "Oh! It's like this."

Eyebrows down, mouth a granite line — the stern butler reappeared in full force, not aimed at Betsy but at Elsie. His eyes sparkled, though, as he announced, "Mrs Hughes, you must speak with your maids. They are —" he cast about for an idea — "doing a sloppy job beating the carpets — and the standards of the household are slipping!"

He said it almost as he would have at one of his worst moments, and everyone was laughing at his self-parody but Elsie, who had gone quiet. She looked away, looked down at Glenna. She had smiled a little, but she suddenly seemed far away.

His heart sank, but he would not ask her about it just now. Not in front of everyone.

* * *

.

a/n thanks for your support; i hope you'll leave me a review if you have a moment! special thanks always to kouw for beta magic!


	176. Chapter 176

Eyebrows down, mouth a granite line — the stern butler reappeared in full force, not aimed at Becky but at Elsie. His eyes sparkled, though, as he announced, "Mrs Hughes, you must speak with your maids. They are —" he cast about for an idea — "doing a sloppy job beating the carpets — and the standards of the household are slipping!"

He said it almost as he would have at one of his worst moments, and everyone was laughing at his self-parody but Elsie, who had gone quiet. She looked away, looked down at Glenna. She had smiled a little, but she suddenly seemed far away.

His heart sank, but he would not ask her about it just now. Not in front of everyone.

* * *

He insisted on helping to clear breakfast, charming everyone with the way he could carry a tray on the tips of his fingers.

He brought the tray into the kitchen where Andra stood at the sink. She stopped him, her hand on his arm, before he could leave.

"Charlie, don't worry about the rest of these. I can see there's something brewing — "

"But the breakfast dishes —"

"No."

Her clipped brogue stopped him short.

"Like I said, there's plenty of time for you to help with that. Now go. Go for a stroll. Ask her to show you the farm, or something. Just get her alone, for heaven's sakes, away from these bairns so she can have herself a good cry."

He stared at her, thinking how no one had ever spoken to him like this about Elsie Hughes. _Carson_. _Either one_. How very much she deserved to have someone look out for her that way.

"I — yes. Right. Thank you, Andra."

He set down the tray, bowing his head slightly (_old habits_), and went to look for her. Andra watched him leave, shaking her head, smiling affectionately.

She had just hung up her dressing gown in their room and he went in, closed the door, and gathered her into his arms.

She was surprised, but immediately she softened into his embrace, leaning her head against his chest. His chin fitting on top of her head, he hummed. It rumbled through both of them.

"Now, my darling girl, do you want to talk about it?"

She took a deep breath to stave off her tears and shook her head.

"Not here."

He leaned back, looking into her eyes as she looked up.

"Do you want to go for a walk? Walk out with me, as it were?"

She smiled sadly.

"Charming man." Her hand resting on his chest, her voice breaking just slightly, she responded, "Yes, Charlie. I would love to walk out with you."

He took her face in his gentle hands and kissed her lips. She kissed him back, tasting of tea, then salt.

* * *

.

**a/n please leave me a review if you have a moment; I appreciate them so much! And thank you kouw!**


	177. Chapter 177

"Do you want to go for a walk? Walk out with me, as it were?"

She smiled sadly.

"Charming man." Her hand resting on his chest, her voice breaking just slightly, she responded, "Yes. I would love to walk out with you."

He took her face in his gentle hands and kissed her lips. She tasted of tea, then salt.

* * *

So Charlie and Elsie walked out together. Wrapped up warmly, with her hand in the crook of his elbow. But she grew more tense with every step, and she knew he could feel it.

She didn't like it.

After ten minutes of walking in an increasingly uncomfortable silence, she stopped them and let go of his arm.

"You'll think I'm very silly, Mr Carson."

Standing next to him, she couldn't see his wounded, confused expression.

"Gettin' sentimental about you and the bairns again, just like with Miss Sybil." Her voice sounded flat, bitter.

He shook his head and reached for her hand, which she pulled away.

"No, Elsie —"

"What do you think of my family, Mr Carson?" She turned, looking him hard in the eye.

"I think they're wonderful," he said quietly.

That stopped her and her expression softened somewhat. Wide-eyed, she searched his face.

"And I can't wait to meet young Moira and cherish _her_ bairn." Her words, but in his own accent.

_He's serious._

She blinked; the tears that had been forming fell and she pursed her lips, irritated at her own uncontrolled emotions.

He tried again, reaching for her hand and she let him take it. He thought he might know what this was about, and he gathered his courage. Then, softly and evenly, he spoke.

"Elsie, I wish for them too."

She gasped, almost moaning in her throat. It was too much. She closed her eyes against the sight of him there, his loving eyes and his big hands and the grey sky and the hills of her family's farm. She shook her head against the image that came when she closed her eyes — a younger Charlie standing in front of her, taking her to village dances, holding _their_ babies...

It was beginning to rain. He looked around, wondering if any of the buildings he saw were open. She opened her eyes and thought for a moment —

"In there, Charlie." She indicated the stable and they walked as quickly as they could.

It was warm inside and they unwrapped somewhat, removing hats and gloves. They lit a lantern that she found immediately; its location hadn't changed since last year. Or since the last century, for that matter.

They crossed the clean hay to a bench and sat together. She didn't seem to want to hold his hand, let alone have his arm around her, so he sat awkwardly next to her.

She lifted her hands to gesture, then dropped them into her lap, sighing in frustration.

"I don't know what's got into me... I just — normally I have no regrets, but seeing you with Glenna — "

She closed her mouth and quickly inhaled, resolutely looking at the floor.

He dared put his hand over hers. When she didn't pull away, he squeezed her hand.

"This is nice," she said weakly.

"I'm sorry I said that to you about being sentimental, Elsie."

She startled somewhat at the abruptness of his words, then shook her head.

"Oh, it isn't that — it really isn't. It's just — everything." She sighed again. "It's so frustrating, Charlie. I don't know why it's so hard to have you here."

His pained look brought tears to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean —"

"But —" He started to protest, without an idea of what to say.

"— I mean, it's so lovely to have you here, but it's a bit of a shock."

"It's only the first day, my love."

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly, wondering if he were being pedantic. _Like before_.

He explained quickly, "I only mean it might take some getting used to."

"I miss you." Her words surprised her and suddenly she was really crying. He opened his arms to her and she leaned into his chest.

"Shhhhh, I'm here," he whispered to her, his hand soothing on her back.

"I feel like I — it sounds mad, maybe — I miss you in — in _time_, Mr Carson. We've lost so much time, you and I, and we can live a little, we can live a _lot _—" she laughed through her tears — "but we can never have bairns of our own."

The obvious words hung in the warm air of the stable. The wind howled outside; they could hear the rain on the roof.

She broke and sobbed against him; he held her tightly in his arms, rocking her and kissing her hair.

* * *

**a/n This is not the monster chapter I tried to write, but that one was awful, so here we are! Please let me know what you think if you have a moment. Thank you!**

**thanks to kouw!**


	178. Chapter 178

**a/n thank you kouw! and thank you everyone who reads and reviews! it means a lot to me. please drop me a line about this one if you have the time! thank you so much.**

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* * *

The obvious words hung in the warm air of the stable. The wind howled outside; they could hear the rain on the roof.

She broke and sobbed against him; he held her tightly in his arms, rocking her and kissing her hair.

* * *

_We can never have bairns of our own_.

In between brushing away her tears with gentle fingertips, he wiped away at his own with the back of his hand.

Barely able to speak, she managed to get out a few self-deprecating words, shuddered against his chest. "This — this is so — so stupid."

"It isn't, my love." Hearing his voice thick with emotion, she looked up, then laughed bitterly at the two of them.

"Isn't it? To sit here and wish for what we can never have? Wishing we'd been well-suited when we were young, it's…"

"It's impossible."

"_You_'_re_ impossible," she snapped.

She immediately regretted her harsh words. Even more so when he recoiled, looking at her with such pain in his eyes. He'd let go of her hands, and she wanted to reach for him but she felt unable to do so —

"I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it."

"But there's something of the truth in it, isn't there? Still, today?"

"No. No, Charlie —" and with the affectionate nickname she reached up and caught his tear, brushed it away, kept her hand there with her thumb gentle on his cheek and her fingers in his hair. "Not anymore, my love. I'm sorry I said that."

"But I _was_ impossible. You didn't like me. And rightly so."

She pulled away, shocked.

He tilted his head at her, sad but resolute.

"I… Charlie, I never _dis_liked you."

"I liked _you_."

She stared at him, almost angry, her eyes wide and filling with tears again as she wondered what the hell he was playing at. "Don't."

He shook his head. This wasn't going right. "I'm not —" he stopped in frustration, started again. "I _liked_ you, Elsie. You were serious, hardworking, and yes, beautiful —"

"Stop it." She shook her head, looking down, but he took her hands in his.

"No, I'm — I'm not trying to say — that — that I would have been ready. I know that's not true. I just — I was always _fond_ of you, and I respected you, always, and…" He deflated, feeling like she wasn't listening to him.

A pause. She didn't look at him, but at last she responded, "I think I understand."

Another pause.

Then she spoke slowly and carefully, looking at the floor. "That really _was_ funny, you know. What you did at breakfast."

He shook his head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She leaned down to pick up a stray piece of hay and made tiny accordion folds in it. He was left with empty hands, which he let drop into his lap.

"I mean — it hurt somehow, hearing you talk to me that way again. But I know you meant it as a joke, and it was _funny,_ Charlie. It _was_."

He made a skeptical "hmmm," furrowing his brow.

"It _was_. It _is_. I love it when you're playful. And you're very charming, and my family loves you."

"But?"

She shook her head once.

"And _I _love you. More and more every day, Charlie." Looking away, she rushed on. "And I'm not even sure how to say this, because I —" she looked down, shrugged slightly —"I've never experienced this before. Seeing you with Glenna, having you here — it brings back every regret I thought I never had. Something about seeing you with the babies of _my_ _family_, it's just —"

She made a sound of frustration, then tried to throw the piece of hay away from her. It floated to her knee and she brushed it angrily away onto the floor.

They sat that way in silence for a moment, not looking at each other.

Then he spoke softly to her. "I think I understand what you mean."

He offered his hand. To his relief and hers, she took it.


	179. Chapter 179

**a/n thanks to everyone. please drop me a line - thank you so much. special thanks to kouw!**

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* * *

She looked up at him. Seeing the sorrow in his eyes, she loosened her grip to let their fingers lace together.

Slowly, they relaxed into one another.

"I fell in love with you all over again when I saw you holding Glenna."

And he turned and kissed her, gently, his free hand tilting her chin up. She returned the kiss, her hands squeezing his.

When they broke the kiss, he spoke.

"I felt the same way when I saw you with Betsy."

"Did you?" She sounded so small and hopeful; it tore at his heart to think she would doubt it.

"My god, Elsie, yes. I've thought of almost nothing else since she came jumping onto our bed this morning. I imagined wee girls like that..."

She smiled through her tears. "Wee lasses."

"Lasses, right. Bonnie wee _lassies_, calling you mama."

"Calling _you_ Da and twisting you around their little finger." She paused. Then, "Oh lord, you haven't even met the boys yet, Charlie. They're going to swarm you."

"Good." He laughed softly, and she couldn't help but join him.

"I would've loved to have them with you, Elsie. Boys and girls." She pulled back to look at him, and he didn't look away as he continued. "It would have been my honor and my delight."

She watched him, letting his words sink in. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

"And we can — we can spend every day suffering, regretting our missed chances, or — or we can do what you said and live a little —" she opened her mouth to interrupt him and he looked at her, hoping she wouldn't; these words felt too fragile and tentative to withstand it — "carrying this with us, yes — but, well — treasuring the time we _have_ been given. I know _I _treasure every day I have with you."

He seemed to deflate, exhaling after the ordeal of finding the words for this... this _mess_.

Somehow she felt she couldn't move, so she just squeezed his hand in hers. "You must know I treasure every day with you too. "

Not knowing what to say, he nodded.

They simultaneously took a deep and shaky breath, then laughed at themselves for it.

"Are we alright, Elsie? Are you?"

She sighed, looked at him with love, nodded. "Are _you_?"

He hesitated, the hurt lingering in his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, my love. Come here, my man."

And she pulled him close, wishing she could hold him to her bosom. Instead, she pressed herself against his chest while he rested his cheek on her hair.

"I'm sorry I lashed out at you," she murmured into his chest. Then she pulled back, looked up at him, to see if he understood.

He did. He nodded. "It's alright."

Relieved, she leaned back into him.

After a time, they both started to speak at once.

"I think the rain is —"

"Perhaps we should —"

"Yes." She briskly dried her remaining tears and they stood, still hand in hand.

Then he surprised her, pulling her into a ballroom hold.

"Dance with me?"

She looked at him incredulously, but he looked so hopeful, so _boyish _— she tipped her head with a tiny smile.

They turned slowly, their steps softened by hay. He hummed some tune for them — maybe something from his past; she didn't recognize it. At the end he bowed and kissed her hand.

"Oh, my lovely, silly man."

He pulled her close and held her, and his voice rumbled through her.

"My Elsie. I love you."

They stood that way for several long moments, listening as the rain slowed.

Then practicality took hold as she mentioned getting back before the rain started up again.

Despite the overcast sky, they squinted as they emerged from the dark of the stable.

They held hands, avoiding puddles as they hurried back.

The house was quiet when they arrived. Andra and Janet had finished cleaning up from lunch and were drinking cups of tea. They looked very much like mother and daughter as they glanced up, smiling sympathetically at the Carsons as they entered.

They looked… not _bedraggled_, exactly. Not even sad, not quite. A bit glazed-over. Exhausted, but they seemed to be in harmony again.

Andra stood and went to them, taking their coats. She embraced her sister, kissed her cheek, then did the same to him. They smiled their tired thanks.

"The bairns are sleeping; I suggest you two do the same."

They both nodded; Elsie embraced Andra again and whispered her thanks.

In their room, they locked the door, built up the fire, and hung up their damp clothing. She took down her hair and let him braid it; he was getting better at it. And then they curled up naked together, letting themselves grieve and heal with nothing keeping them apart.

With her back to his chest, his tears in her hair and her tears on the pillow, they slept deeply for several hours.


	180. Chapter 180

She woke slowly to the sounds of a torrential rain beating against the window.

He still snored softly. His arm was draped around her waist, his hand heavy on the mattress in front of her. She nestled in closer, lifting his hand and covering her breast with it.

He woke up confused. Not by his hand on her breast — that delicious sensation had become familiar. New surroundings and near darkness made it momentarily unclear where they were. Then he relaxed around her.

"Hello, you."

"Hello, Charlie." Her voice, so quiet, but still full of that lovely music when she flirted with him.

He dared move his hand, lightly caressing her, not taking _too_ many liberties just yet. The backs of his fingers traced down over the dip of her waist, the roundness of her hip. Then up, and his warm hand was cupping her breast again, starting to tease her nipple. He heard the change in her breath. _Loved_ it.

She pressed closer, her bottom against his growing hardness. Her hand, reaching back, ran down his thigh. Her quiet, breathless moan made them both grateful for the sound of the storm.

His mouth at her shoulder. His words of love in her ear, his request — that she immediately granted, turning onto her back.

He rose up on one elbow. His mouth on her breast, she arched up to press into him. His hand wrapped around her hip would have made made her look small, had anyone been looking. But they were wrapped up in each other and hidden under shared blankets. She closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in his hair, messy from the wind and from sleep.

His lips, his tongue, sucking and licking at her nipple, drew affirmations and then pleading. Yes, she pleaded with him to touch her, _please_, to _taste_ her.

He grinned at her.

Grinned, _laughed_, made to get up, and he was joking; he would never deliberately do that to her, but then they both froze because little hands were knocking on their door.

"Auntie Elsie!"

Different voices; it must be the boys come with Fiona and Daniel for Sunday tea.

Hushed voices of women shooed the children away from the door. Snippets of words,_ sleeping, leave them be._

He lay down heavy next to her.

"What do you want to do?"

He had to let her lead this. Here, in her house, with her family around. People he'd barely met. He wouldn't mind continuing, if they could just have the privacy, but it all depended on whether she would be comfortable. He watched her, waiting.

She bit her lip, big eyes staring at him as they both listened to footsteps retreating.

A door closed, down the hallway from them. Another closed at the bottom of the stairs, and her expression slowly turned into a wicked little smile.

* * *

a/n in honor of the glorious, GLORIOUS CS SPOILER. A little tease. Thank you, olehistorian, for the request, and kouw for the beta, and everyone who reads and reviews and reblogs. xoxoxoxo


	181. Chapter 181

She bit her lip, big eyes staring at him as they both listened to footsteps retreating.

A door closed, down the hallway from them. At the bottom of the stairs, another one, and her expression slowly turned into a wicked little smile.

* * *

He'd tucked his arm between their bodies when he lay down to face her.

Now she took his hand and kissed his knuckles, his palm. He cupped her face; his thumb brushed across her lower lip before she took his hand and pressed it over her breast, moaning softly when he curved his hand around her. He squeezed her lightly, fingers playing against her hardening nipple and drawing soft sounds of restrained pleasure from her.

"Please —" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Glad for her boldness, he smiled, then dipped his head to take her other nipple into his mouth.

"Oh god, yes —" She moved against him, holding his head to her. Her other hand stroked his back, then pressed his hand firmly over her breast when he seemed about to let go.

So he pushed, pulled, squeezed a little harder and was rewarded with the arch of her back, the sound of her breath shaking.

"Please, Charlie — will you —"

"Will I what?" His voice was low, hushed, as close to a whisper as he could manage, and the mere sound of it — his tone, the desire there in the spaces between his words — brought even more wetness between her legs.

"Will you — I want you to — _please_ "

She gasped as he sucked hard on her nipple, then let up on the pressure and gently released it.

But his hand, his _hand _was moving purposefully, pretending to drift aimlessly down her front, glancing over her as she pushed up to meet him. Her thighs parted as she tried to make contact. But he didn't touch her there; he touched her naked legs instead. The heated skin of her inner thighs, the tremble of her breath — he almost knelt between her legs and begged her to let him take her, but the pleasure in this slow burn was too great.

He cupped her sex for a moment, his hand still. She tried to arch up, press herself against him, but he moved with her, his touch maddeningly light.

Then slowly, his fingers opened her up, sliding in between, loving her wetness. He took his hand away and she whimpered at the loss, then gasped as he sucked his fingers.

"Please _what_, Elsie?"

Again his soft voice was so _deep_, so sensual.

"I want your mouth — please, _please_ taste me, I want your _mouth_ on me I want you to _lick _me —"

He smiled with delight at her pleasure — _yes, and a little bit at the power of it, at the delight in making her beg _—

Slowly, so slowly she thought she might _actually _go mad, he moved down her body, kissing, nipping as he went, until he reached the meeting of her thighs. She was writhing, her legs opening for him, breathing as quietly as she could as the sheet followed him, slowly sliding down her body.

He looked up. Her wrists were already tangled in her hair. He paused, thinking. Pressed another kiss to her thigh.

She whimpered again, wondering as he pulled back from her.

He crawled up her body to press a kiss between her breasts.

As he got up, she stared at him.

She hissed, "_Where are you going?_"

But she didn't have to wait long.

Her eyes widened; her mouth dropped open, because he was coming back, carrying the sash from her dressing gown.

* * *

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a/n oh charlie you naughty naughty.

thanks to kouw for beta magic

please drop me a line if you have a minute. thanks! xoxoxo


	182. Chapter 182

**NSFW.**

* * *

As he got up, she stared at him.

She hissed, "_Where are you going?_"

But she didn't have to wait long.

Her eyes widened; her mouth dropped open, because he was coming back, carrying the sash from her dressing gown.

* * *

She smiled, bit her lip, and gasped, her body jerking slightly —

— a_t the very idea of _— _of him tying me up _—

Phrases ran through her head.

— _having his way with me _—

He paused to light the candle, then watched her trembling hands as she slowly unwrapped them from her hair.

Then she leaned up on her elbows and the sheet fell away from her breasts. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the light flickering over her skin. He saw her eyes flick to the sash and back to meet his gaze.

"I thought we might, er — because you — with your hair…"

He trailed off, his eyes flitting to the movements of her naked breasts in candlelight as she sat up, presenting him with her wrists.

"I've never done this before." Her voice was barely a whisper; her heart pounded.

"Neither have I."

He was reverent as he took her hands, turned them, and kissed her wrists, her fingertips, her palms. Then he looped the sash over her wrists. When she gasped at the soft and familiar fabric sliding against her skin, he became uncertain. The idea of hurting her made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Do you — is this alright, Elsie?"

She wrapped up her wrists, leaving enough slack between them to drape her arms over him. She pulled him to her and kissed his mouth, neck, shoulder, making him gasp as she moved down his chest, letting the sash pull him. Then she came back up. Whispered in his ear —

"Yes. I want you to tie me up."

Her smoky voice, that brogue — all of it sent a rush of arousal through his body.

And then he was straddling her, concentrating on tying the sash to the bed frame. She looked at his erection, wishing she could touch it. Wishing — and she rather surprised herself — that she could wrap her mouth around him, take him in as deep as he would go.

_If he could do that for me, why not_?

But she couldn't reach, and that was that.

Twisting the sash so that that it was tight enough, but she could free herself if she needed to, he tied her wrists together. Already this made her arch upward, kissing where she could reach, which was his breastbone as he leaned over her to tie the sash to the bedframe.

She moaned softly and he looked at her with a question in his eyes.

"I like it, Charlie." Her voice was low, soft — the word _seductive_ floated through his mind.

He smiled, finding his way. Satisfied with the knot, he trailed his hands back down her arms.

"Kiss me. _Please_," she breathed, and he did, his hand cupping her face.

Her eyes fluttered shut; she inhaled through open lips and tried to keep from making noise as she twisted between the sheets. It was tight but not terribly so. It was immobilizing. There was no pain, not really. A little discomfort but _god_, it was good.

* * *

**a/n** Many thanks to kouw for beta magic. More chapters in this little arc will be along shortly. Please leave me a review if you have a moment; they mean a lot to me! thank you!


	183. Chapter 183

**nsfw.**

* * *

"Kiss me. _Please_," she breathed, and he did, his hand cupping her face.

Her eyes fluttered shut; she inhaled through open lips and tried to keep from making noise as she twisted between the sheets.

It was tight but not terribly so. It was immobilizing. There was no pain. A little discomfort but _god_, it was good.

* * *

The sash was tied to the bars of the iron bed frame. She pulled against it; it tightened.

She closed her eyes, breathing in, already shaking with pleasure.

With his hands supporting him on either side of her, he dipped his head to kiss her.

She stifled her moans, holding her breath as he stroked her breast with one hand and kissed the opposite side of her neck, nibbling at her earlobe and breathing hot against her ear.

His rumbling half-whisper. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes, Charl—" she inhaled rapidly as his hand closed over her breast and his mouth covered her other nipple. Licking, sucking, pulling at her, he went feverishly fast and then stopped, breaking contact and looking at her. His cupped hand hovered over her breast, so close she could feel the heat of it.

Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back but now she sank back into the bed — _slowly, quiet quiet quiet_ — and she gasped — frustration and desperate arousal. She looked at him through lowered eyelashes and just as she was about to beg him to continue, his mouth was back.

"Oh god —" He clapped his hand over her mouth and slowly (_quiet careful quiet_), she tensed again, arching, pushing her breast into his mouth, biting down on his palm.

He pulled his hand away to let it slide down her body; she writhed as his mouth continued to ravish her other breast.

If she could, she would be holding his head to her breast, driving her fingers through his hair, maybe digging her nails into his shoulder… But instead she pulled against the sash, enjoying this.

This feeling of being completely exposed, hands up, trusting him — of _course_ she trusted him; she trusted him _completely_, but _this_… she lost track of her thoughts as he finally cupped her sex again.

Lightly. She tried to press herself into him but again he moved with her. He _grinned_, the wicked man, loving the power, knowing it was truly an equal playing field because she could stop this anytime she wanted to.

The noises from the bed were relatively quiet, thanks to the slowness of their movements.

She whimpered when his hand moved away. He released her breast, kissed it once more, and blew on it, smiling wickedly.

She shivered. Glared at him. Not that he minded.

His smile dissolved into an expression of concentration as he let his hand glide softly over her skin. Her open thighs. Her sides, belly, breasts. Every touch brought more pleasure, more anticipation. Her breathing was becoming erratic as she tried not to moan out loud.

He climbed in between her legs — _slowly, slowly_ — and continued the torment with both hands.

Her luscious body undulating under his touch made his erection twitch with desire, but he would delay his own release for the delights of tasting her. Of making her come — over and over if he could — with his mouth.

_The delights of her pussy. _He sucked in air through his teeth at the thought of it.

He leaned over her to kiss her eager mouth and she pressed up into him — _slowly_ — as well as she could. His hardness lying hot against her belly made her buck upward, causing a mighty squeak.

They both froze. Listened.

Rain on the window. The wind. Other than that, nothing.

* * *

**a/n thanks again kouw for beta magic, and thanks to all who read and review. it means a lot to me. xo**


	184. Chapter 184

**NSFW**

* * *

He leaned over her to kiss her eager mouth and she pressed up into him — _slowly_ — as well as she could. His hardness lying hot against her belly made her buck upward, causing a mighty squeak.

They both froze. Listened.

Rain on the window. The wind. Other than that, nothing.

* * *

Soft, shaking laughter from both of them, and he dipped his head to kiss her again.

Then he began to kiss his way down her body. Slowly. She pulled luxuriously against the sash; he took advantage of the different angle to worship her breasts, sucking at one nipple and then the other, kneeling between her thighs.

He was touching her everywhere but _there_ and it was driving her insane. She tried to press herself up against him for more contact, but he took hold of both of her hips and bore down, pushing her into the mattress. He did it too fast to keep the bed quiet, and he flinched at the noise, making her laugh at him even as she gasped from the sensation.

In fact, she would have curled into herself with the thrill of that touch, but his weight on her prevented it. Which made it even more arousing, and she had to turn her head and bite down on her arm to keep from screaming.

He grinned at her, surprised at the effect of his spontaneous action.

"Are you alright?"

"God yes, _please_ —"

She gasped; he was releasing her hips and kissing her knees, up her inner thighs, slow hot open-mouthed kisses, alternating legs, nipping here and there. Soon he was close in between her legs and his hand weighed heavy, low on her belly.

"Please, Charlie — yes, oh god please _please_ kiss me, lick me, oh my god _yes _—" Because he was finally there, his tongue on her, his lips — his touch started light, but soon he didn't hold back anymore and he was burying his face in her.

She held her breath to keep from screaming until she had to let it out and take deep, long breaths. Her breathing grew more and more ragged and as she began to come undone against his mouth, he held her hips down as tightly as he could, and she very nearly cried out from the way his strong arms increased her pleasure by restricting her movements.

He loosened his hold and softened his tongue against her as she came down, then he looked up at her. She was spread out before him, her eyes closed, her hair in curls and waves, coming out of its braid. Her hands loosely holding onto the twisted sash. As he stared at her — her thighs, her body so entirely _open_ for him — he thought that he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

_Beautiful's not the right word, Charlie. _

_Magnificent. _

_No. _

_Glorious? _

_Ugh. _

_Erotic? _

_That's a start. _

_Alright, that's enough of that._

He opened her labia with gentle thumbs, making her arch up again, a quiet moan half-escaping before she caught it in her throat, her breath hitching.

"Are you ready for more?" His voice was so rich, so _confident_ somehow —

Her breath trembled; her _voice_ trembled — "Yes, dear _god _yes."

* * *

**a/n**** thank you everyone who reads, reblogs, and reviews! and thank you so much, kouw, for your beta magic! **

**and thank you kissman and imestizaa and chelsiefan for wernderferl kernversersherns. MWAH. lots of love to all.**

**please leave me a review if you have the time. they mean a lot to me, and i love to know if you're still with me. :D**


	185. Chapter 185

**NSFW.**

**Thank you everyone who reads and reviews. Thank you kouw for beta magic. Enjoy. xo**

**.**

* * *

He opened her labia with gentle thumbs, making her arch up again, a quiet moan half-escaping before she caught it in her throat, her breath hitching.

"Are you ready for more?" His voice was so rich, so _confident_ somehow —

Her breath trembled; her _voice_ trembled — "Yes, dear _god _yes."

* * *

So he slid a finger inside, two — stroking, pulsing, and then his mouth was on her again and she went speeding toward another climax, desperately silencing her own moans by biting down on her arm again.

She was deliciously caught in the heat of his mouth and his fingers and the need to keep still and quiet — she felt he was _everywhere_, and his touch was soft, slow, relentless — pausing only when she needed to recover.

Over and over she came undone — until, unable to use her hands to ask him to stop, she used words instead. He stilled his movements and she lay nearly motionless, catching her breath. He wiped his face on his shoulder, looked up at her, and grinned.

"Oh my _god_, Charlie, what you _do _to me —" she said it right out loud, breathy, then gasped and bit her lip, looking at him in wide-eyed shock at the volume of her voice.

Though she told him he could pull out, she still shivered when he did it. He crawled up her body again to kiss her, deeply, with her taste on his lips. His hardness lay against her belly; she moaned into his mouth.

When he spoke, it was deep and quiet in her ear. "I'm an awfully lucky man, Mrs Hughes."

"That may well be, Mr Carson." Then she opened her eyes — "But oh, you are so _beautiful_, my man."

He frowned but it did little to diminish the expression of joy on his face.

"Beautiful and proud, aren't you?" she murmured, smiling brilliantly at him and wrinkling her nose. She'd have cupped his chin, run her thumb over his lip — if she could. Instead she let him know with words and with the intoxicating look in her eyes just how much she loved and wanted him.

He shook his head slowly, looked down, looked back up at her. His smiling eyes belied his self-deprecating act until he had to say it:

"I _am_ proud. I am proud I can do that … that I can make you come like that."

She beamed at him, then as her body continued to recover, she began to feel the acute and almost painful desire — the _need_ — to _have_ him. For him to _take_ her.

"Come here, Charlie. I want you inside me."

Her voice, low and seductive and breathless.

He sounded surprisingly coherent. "My fingers, or…?"

She shook her head.

"No. _You_. I want — I want you to f-f-_fuck_ me" — and he gasped in both shock and delight — "...Slowly. So slowly I can't stand it. So slowly this godforsaken bed doesn't even squeak. _Please, _Charlie_, oh god_, I want you inside me —"

She shuddered in anticipation of that sweet torment, couldn't believe she was asking him for _that_ when she wanted... Well. She wanted it slow and fast all at once and she felt emptied and hollow and wanting after his fingers left her, and the overwhelming desire for him to _fill_ her brought desperate tears to her eyes.

"Elsie?"

That concern in his voice — already he was reaching to undo the sash but she shook her head.

"No, Charlie. No. This is... Oh my god. So good."

"But you're crying —"

"I am crying because — because I — oh god Charlie please just _come to me_, I'm crying because I want you, _now_ —"

His eyebrows flew up and he leaned forward, squeaking bed be damned, and kissed her. At the same time he guided himself to her and slid against her. She whimpered and pushed against him and then raised her hips to take him in.

He sank into her, weighing her down into the mattress. He was fully inside her, buried to the hilt, and she was shaking against him, all around him, as his large presence inside her, filling her, made her come undone again.

Sparing another half-thought for their sounds, they listened — and heard nothing but the storm.

He retreated as slowly — and as slightly — as he could, then pressed into her again. He was barely coming out, but he rocked against her, bearing down, pushing her hips into the mattress with his body, her legs splayed wide to accommodate him.

Her whole body shook with the drawn-out pleasure of it. Sweetness from deep within, tension building and abating with every move. Her legs wrapped around him, then released him, bracing against the mattress to press up against him.

He began a regular rhythm, withdrawing and then thrusting back into her. Their agonisingly slow tempo gave her time to push and pull with her inner muscles counter to his movements. Realizing what she was doing, he opened his eyes to stare at her in a lust-drugged haze.

She smiled back, then gradually her smile fell away, transformed into an uncontrolled expression of nearly unbearable ecstasy. His smooth, unceasing movements drove her higher and higher until she came again, long and intense and with silent screams that she tried to bury in the pillow.

She took him with her, the undulating movements of her body milking him for his seed as he slowly drove into her. He sped up at the end, unable to hold back, but her strong grip on the bars of the bedframe (she moved up to grasp the frame itself) seemed to reduce the squeaking somewhat and as they finally lay spent and sweaty together in a tangled and blissful heap, she let go, untwisted the sash to release her hands, and wrapped herself around him, her fingers raking through his hair to hold him tight against her.

About ten minutes passed; they had almost fallen asleep again when there was a knock at the door.

"Elsie? Charlie? We're having tea; you can join us if you're up to it."

* * *

.

**how you doin', sweetpea? tell me all about it.**


	186. Chapter 186

About ten minutes passed; they had almost fallen asleep again when there was a knock at the door.

"Elsie? Charlie? We're having tea; you can join us if you're up to it."

* * *

On the other side of the door, Andra blushed furiously; she had said something more risqué than she'd intended. Honestly, she didn't know for sure whether those two had been up to anything but sleeping, but for their sake she rather hoped they had.

She smiled, eyebrows up, shrugged, and walked away. _Risqué_, she thought. _Well. More power to them._

Leaning up on their elbows, they stared at wide-eyed at each other. He broke and smiled first. And they fell into one another with quiet laughter and soft kisses.

"Good god, wo—" he began, but she laughed at him and kissed his mouth before he could finish. Undeterred, he returned her kiss.

"Good god, woman, y—" and she kissed him again, amused at their game.

"You'll —"

She kissed him once more.

"I'll what?"

"You'll turn me into a _deviant_."

She laughed at him and gently pushed him backward. He did not resist, but still he gasped, his mouth open in shock as he fell back onto the pillows. She kissed him soundly, pulled back, and grinned at him.

"You should be so lucky, Charlie."

"The bed, Elsie —"

"What about it?"

"It's so loud! They'll all hear!"

She laughed again. "But they all know we're awake now. And we're getting up for tea."

"Are we?" He pulled an eyebrow at her and she smacked his chest lightly.

"Yes, you horrible man!"

He gave her an exaggerated wounded look and she leaned into him and kissed him once more, then retreated, stepping lightly off the bed. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown, looked back at him with a sweet smile, and then left the room.

He got up quickly too, as it occurred to him that if he were going to go down for tea, he would most certainly need to wash his face.

Because he could smell her _everywhere_.

When she got back to the room, a hysterical giggle caught in her throat as she saw that he'd opened the window a crack.

They both dressed quickly. She pinned her hair up — not severely as she had in her last years at Downton, but with soft waves as she'd worn during the War.

When they were both ready to go down, she stepped into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand over her head, whispering fiercely, "I love you."

She leaned back and looked at him, smiled — "I love you too. Now kiss me, my lovely man, before we go face my family."

"Your _delightful_ family," and he kissed her, his hands cradling her face, and she returned his kiss, then pushed him gently away from her and opened the door.

* * *

**.**

**a/n how you doin, bbe?**

**thanks kouw for beta help!**


	187. Chapter 187

When they were both ready to go down, she stepped into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand over her head, whispering fiercely, "I love you."

She leaned back and looked at him, smiled — "I love you too. Now kiss me, my lovely man, before we go face my family."

"Your _delightful_ family," and he kissed her, his hands cradling her face, and she returned his kiss, then pushed him gently away from her and opened the door.

* * *

The children's bright voices filled the kitchen.

As soon as they entered the room, they were bombarded by two four-year-old boys hugging Elsie's skirt. She dropped down to greet them.

"Well! Let me look at you! Who's this? Alex and Ted, my strong little men! You've got so big all of a sudden!" And she hugged them to her, then looked up to see their brothers — eight-year-old Andy who sat on the sofa reading a book, and seven-year-old Justin and six-year-old Henry, who lay on the floor, drawing pictures, fighting over pencils with Betsy, and making up monstrous stories. Glenna ran over to Charles and held her arms up to him.

Delighted, he picked her up. His wife introduced him to her niece Fiona, Fiona's husband Daniel, and their boys. Eventually they took a seat; Glenna immediately wriggled out of his lap to join Betsy, who had picked up a doll. He took Elsie's hand on the table; she raised her eyebrows at his boldness. He raised his as well, enjoyed her soft smile, and turned at the sound of his name.

"Uncle Charlie?"

Christina's shy voice.

"Yes, Christina?"

"Are you good at tea?"

He smiled slightly, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"You know, _tea_. Are you good at it?"

"I —"

Elsie laughed softly, delighted through her fatigue. "The girls like to have tea parties. If they like a guest, they'll ask them to join. It's an honor, love."

"Ah." He turned, smiling at Christina, opening his mouth to respond, but Elsie jumped in:

"I think he'll try, petal, but you may have to give him some very good training." And she winked at him.

"I shall do my best."

"Let's do it now!" She started to get up, but her mother Margaret stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I think your Uncle Charlie is tired, love." She confirmed this with a look at the Carsons, who both nodded. "You can ask him to tea tomorrow."

Christina looked disappointed and Charlie tried to soften the blow by adopting a formal posture, inclining his head, and intoning:

"I very much look forward to our tea tomorrow, Miss Christina."

* * *

Elsie and Andra washed up after tea. Alone; Andra had banned all others from the kitchen. She wasn't innocent enough to assume that her sister's obvious glow came from anything other than, well. The obvious. Especially after their emotional morning. But still, she wanted to make sure all was well.

Also, she refused to miss this unparalleled chance to tease her.

"Are you alright, Els?"

Elsie wasn't one to curse human nature. Far from it, really. But at the moment she did halfheartedly curse whatever part of human nature it was that made it impossible _ever_ to control one's own blushing.

"Of course! Mr Carson — _Charlie _and I had a lovely lie-down." _Damn it. "_A lovely ... We slept well."

Andra was staring at her, highly amused and looking as pink as her sister.

"Well, that's good news. I was beginning to worry about you two: you were all off-kilter this morning and you look more tired after your nap than before it."

* * *

.

**a/n**

**How's it going, bbe?**

**Thank you kouw for beta magic!**


	188. Chapter 188

Andra was staring at her, highly amused and looking as pink as her sister.

"Well, that's good news. I was beginning to worry about you two: you were all off-kilter this morning and you look more tired after your nap than before it."

* * *

"Oh," she said lightly. She'd insisted on drying instead of washing, which was unusual for her. But it allowed her to keep from rolling up the particularly long sleeves of the cardigan she'd put on over her blouse. "I think that must be just the oddness of taking a midday nap. Waking up all turned around and wondering what day it is."

They spoke in low tones. Habits of motherhood or of service, either one really — the necessity of _keeping things from the children_ had accustomed both of them to hushed conversations.

"Hmm. Well, I'm glad you're well. I say you look tired, but you look happy too — _very_ happy indeed; I know that sparkle when I see it — Ow! Ow, stop it, you witch!"

With a devilish look, Elsie had twirled the dishcloth into a whip and snapped it at her sister's backside, scolding her:

"Good Lord! And here's me thinking I'd _missed_ you!"

Andra laughed. "I _know_ you did. You don't fool me with that tone, Elspeth _Carson_!" Andra shook the water off her hands and then stood, hands on hips, and looked at her sternly as if willing her to explain herself.

"Oh, don't even try it, you know I _taught_ you that look."

"And so you did. I'm just happy for you two." Then she leaned in close and whispered— "I'm glad you _slept well_."

Elsie hissed, "You are a cheeky little minx, Andra Ferguson! And — we _did_ sleep — very well, in fact. Then… we woke up, and — oh lord, never you mind!"

Elsie was well and truly embarrassed by her slip-up. Andra smiled sympathetically and patted her shoulder.

"Els," she said gently, "I won't say a word."

Elsie looked at her gratefully.

"Not even to Mr Carson," Andra continued.

Elsie gasped. "_Especially_ not to Mr Carson!"

"I would _never." _Andra shook her head, laughing. It had not been this easy to tease her sister since they were young and Elsie had been walking out with Joe.

But even then, no. It was nothing like this. Her big sister had found love, the real thing, and clearly they were enjoying it to its fullest. She decided to let it lie. For now, at least.

* * *

They managed to get Andra to let them help serve and clean up after supper. Afterward, Jack and Andra offered them a wee dram, but they both demurred.

"Honestly, Andra, I think I'd fall right out of my chair!"

Andra scoffed. "Sure, Els. Just like the time you —"

"Good night, Andra."

Elsie vigorously shushed her little sister as they left the room.

"Good night, Elsie! Good night, Charlie!"

* * *

.

**a/n. How's it going, darling?**

thanks to kouw for beta magic!


	189. Chapter 189

A lamp burned on the table next to her side of the bed as they lay down together.

"They love you," she told him.

"Who?"

"The little ones. The rest too, but them in particular."

"Oh. Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose."

She scoffed, lightly tapping her fingernail on a button of his pajamas. She was lying on her side, curled into him. He lay on his back with his arm around her, his other hand on his chest, fingers reaching to intertwine with hers. Their hands found each other.

"They really do, Charlie."

"They love their Auntie Elsie too."

"Hmm." He could hear her smile.

They turned toward one another and held on, his head cradled in her bosom and his arms wrapped around her.

"Thank you. For all of that, earlier," she said sleepily. He lifted his head to look at her in surprise. Did she see a hint of a smirk? "I mean — of course _that_ too, you wicked man, that was ... that... I don't even have the words. I can hardly breathe just thinking of it, Charlie. But our walk and our conversation, _that's_ what I meant."

"Hmm. I am glad we went. Andra said you might need a good cry."

"She's a meddler, she is." There was no trace of irritation in her voice, only affection.

He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her chest. "Sounds like her sister to me."

"Aye, that may be, Mr Carson. But she was right. She knows me well."

"Hmmmm. I love it when you talk that way." His smile curled the edges of his voice as it rumbled through her chest.

"What way?"

"Aye. For example. You do it more here than you did in Yorkshire."

"I say 'aye'?"

"And other things. Your brogue is stronger here."

"Oh, I see. And you enjoy that, do you?" She was smiling at him.

"It's lovely."

The way she spoke came naturally to her; it was nothing she particularly tried to control either way. Decades of working in Yorkshire had changed her accent and cadence somewhat, though, and some of that fell away when she was here. She'd never noticed it before, and she didn't trouble with trying to change it now.

"Thank you, Charlie." She stroked his hair; her hand rested on his head. "What is it?"

He had lifted his head, remembering something. He rolled backward, away from her, and took her wrist gently in his hand. He kissed it tenderly, reached for her other one. She let him take it and kiss it as well. Watching him, she understood.

"You didn't hurt me. It didn't hurt."

He looked up at her, kissing her wrist again, reverently turning her hands in his to examine them, leaning up on one elbow for a better view.

"I saw you checking your sleeves earlier," he whispered. "I was worried that maybe you were bruised —"

She leaned up on one elbow too, shaking her head and smiling at him, her eyes warm and loving in the light.

"Not a bruise," and she kissed his cheek, "not a scuff," and she kissed the corner of his mouth, "Not a scratch," and then her kiss was sweet and lingering.

"Nothing but a little trace here and there —" and she kissed him again, "like waking up with lines on your face from the pillow."

His relief poured into the kiss he gave her — _it didn't hurt her, it didn't, it didn't, she loved it, it didn't hurt._

Her hand found its way around the back of his head and she tangled her fingers in his hair.

She lay back down, pulling him with her. She turned away from him, but brought his hand along with her, curling up close to him.

With his hand warm on her hip and his breath in her ear, she pushed back against him, feeling his desire slowly growing. He whispered in her ear.

"Are you tired?"

"Not too tired, no." He could hear the smile in her whispered response.

Tiny, slow movements.

Elsie thanked heaven for the lock on the door as his hand roamed.

The heat of his hand on her thigh. The hitch in her breath as he kissed her neck.

She rose — _slowly, keep quiet_ — so he could pull her nightgown up over her hip.

She sighed happily, moving even closer to him.

_Quiet _—

She wanted more — his skin against hers — so she sat up —_slowly _— to pull her nightgown off. He was already finished with his buttons and starting to ease off his pajama bottoms.

_Squeak_ —

They both gasped. Wide-eyed, she held a finger over her lips. They stopped, listened — nothing.

Barely daring to breathe, they lay back down together.

He enveloped her — his arm wrapped around her torso, words of love in her ear.

She sighed in pleasure, her body flush against his.

His hand running down her thigh. His kisses on her shoulder, her hand resting over his when he cupped her breast.

Drained from the emotional upheaval of the day, they found that they could not stay awake. Their movements slowed; they pulled the covers up further and nestled in.

He drifted off only moments after she did.

* * *

**Hey cutie pie, how you doin?**

**Thanks to the incomparable kouw!**


	190. Chapter 190

"Oh, _honestly,_ Andra, you shouldn't tell tales."

Andra scoffed. Jack chuckled and poured another wee drop into everyone's glass. Warm lamplight filled the kitchen; the four of them sat together around the smallish table. They'd had a calm day, with most of the children and grandchildren away at work, at school, at their homes.

"Are you saying it's not true, Els?"

Sparkling eyes, pursed lips. She pretended to hesitate. "Well, no —"

A deep, melodious voice joined in. "No, it's not true, or no it _is_ true?"

"_You_ stay out of this, Charlie." She tapped his wrist with a finger and fixed him with a stern look that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Andra gasped delightedly. "_That!_ That's the look I'm talking about! Not even ma could do it as well!"

"Och, you think so, do you? That's because by the time you were old enough to remember, she was tired of disciplining the likes of you."

"After you and Duncan ran her ragged."

"Maybe." She took a tiny sip and expertly rolled the scotch around in her mouth, breathing in through her nose and glancing pointedly at Charlie, who was watching her with a glint in his eye.

"Well, and she was all tied up taking care of Glenna," Andra added.

"The poor wee thing," Elsie agreed.

Both women grew quiet; everyone sipped their whiskey. Then Andra remembered something.

"Oh! Duncan is coming to visit, Els! I forgot to tell you yesterday, with all that commotion. He'll be here... Where did I put that letter... Och I don't know. He'll be here for Christmas, maybe even the New Year. I think his gentleman's given him over a week off."

Charlie was astonished at such generosity from a gentleman to his valet.

With other people around them, it was easy for Elsie to ignore his shock. Still, Andra noticed and looked at Elsie meaningfully. Elsie gave a tiny shake of her head and said brightly,

"That's wonderful. I haven't seen him since —"

Andra giggled. "Since the time you fell off your chair!"

"Andra, that was ages ago. I've seen him since _then._"

"So you admit it!" Andra wrinkled her nose, laughing at her sister.

"Oh, alright." She turned to her husband. "When I was not yet walking out with Joe —"

"Hah! Just barely!"

She glared at Andra.

"...As I say, it was before I was walking out with Joe and there was a dance, and I hadn't had punch before and I had a little too much. And I didn't _fall_ off the chair, I just ... got up ungracefully."

"And you kissed Joe."

"I never did!"

"You did, I remember, everyone saw it, and you were lucky he was such a good man, because he took your arm and walked you home with a whole crew of chaperones, remember? And he kissed your tiddly face goodnight at the gate!"

"I was suffering the next morning, I tell you. Embarrassment and that headache! I never did such a thing again. Elsie Temperance Hughes is what they called me after that."

"No they didn't!" Andra rolled her eyes at her.

She laughed then. "No, of course not. But I never did imbibe to quite such excess again!"

Andra rolled her eyes again.

"Such fancy talk, milady. Can you vouch for that, Charlie?"

He raised a doubtful eyebrow at his wife for a moment, starting to shake his head, and she gasped.

"Betrayal! Lies! Treason! I barely touch a drop, and here he is shaking his head as if he weren't the one to drink two thirds of a bottle of good whiskey on his own! And it was no small bottle!"

Everyone was laughing, but she'd hit a nerve.

He sat open-mouthed, staring at her in shock. She saw it immediately.

After a few seconds, so did Jack and Andra.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" It was Jack who asked him.

He looked into his glass, swirled the liquor around in it, looked up, and made a decision.

_Tell them._

_Why the hell not?_

"I was drinking like that because I had just realized I was very much in love with Elsie Hughes."

Andra and Jack roared with laughter; Elsie giggled a little, but mostly at their reaction.

Andra wiped tears from her eyes. "Oh, how horrible, you poor man!"

Jack raised his glass to Charlie, who returned the gesture weakly.

"I know just how you feel, mate. Abandon all hope!"

At that Charlie grew bold again. Grinning, he put his arm around his wife and kissed her cheek. She turned and kissed him full on the mouth, then pushed him away by his chest.

"Cheeky," she flirted.

Andra grinned at Jack, mouthing "_I told you"_ at him.

* * *

**a/n happy downton day, u.s. peeps! no commercial breaks on PBS. wheee**

**please drop me a line if you have time. thank you! and thanks to the ever-fabulous kouw!**


	191. Chapter 191

"Oh — good god — "

He shielded his eyes with his arm. Sunlight seemed to stab straight through his eyes into the back of his skull.

"Good morning, Charlie," she purred, thinking better of it and closing the curtain not a minute after she'd opened it.

He opened one eye. "What time is it?"

"It's gone nine o'clock, but we were up past two, so don't worry; you're not an _entirely _incorrigible layabout."

She sat down next to him, fully clothed and looking none the worse for wear. In fact, she looked radiant.

"How do you do that?" he wondered.

"Do what?"

_Wot, she says. Charming._

He started to grin at her accent. Then he stopped — because the beginning of a grin was already painful. For a moment he had the crazed impression that a full smile would have caused his face to crack and fall to the floor. _Which might not be such a bad thing, _he thought, _then I'd be rid of it. _And while he considered whether or not to raise an eyebrow, he became aware of her question.

"How d'you — " he cleared his throat. "How do you drink like that and not suffer? You're so — bright and pretty and... and _morning_, and I'm ... Ugh. Death warmed up. Last night's leftovers."

_Hangover poetry_, she thought_. The poor man isn't even making sense_.

"You had quite a bit more than I did, Charlie. But your song was wonderful."

"My _song_?" He felt as if his heart had stopped, which made him almost dizzy.

"Yes, of course! You gave us all a rousing rendition of 'I am the Jolly Prince of Drinkers.' Don't you remember?"

His brain initially heard it as "_arousing." _He wanted to waggle his eyebrows at her, but was physically unable to do so. Then the implications of what she'd said began to clarify themselves to him.

"What? I _never_ did! _Did_ I?"

She looked at him with big, innocent eyes, biting her lip to avoid giving away the game.

Horrified, he made as if to sit upright and throw the covers off himself. What exactly he was going to _do_… well, he hadn't gotten that far. Apologize, maybe, to Andra and Jack, to her. Find a way to undo it, to gulp that ridiculous song back down his throat, make it unheard. But his splitting headache stopped him well before he got to an upright position. He groaned and eased himself back into the pillows, pressing against his temples with the fingers and thumb of one hand.

She dropped the act. "Oh, you poor darling. No, you did nothing of the sort."

He did remember the end of the night, washing up, getting into bed. Which was comforting. The idea of his having blacked out and sung a song (especially one so patently silly) was terribly embarrassing.

"Ugh, you're terrible, Mrs Hughes," he mumbled.

His tone was miserable, affectionate, and amused all at once, and she could only laugh, full and wicked and loving.

"I love that laugh," he muttered. "I don't think I've ever heard it before."

She hummed, pulled his hand away from his head, and laid it on his chest. She brought her hands to his head and rubbed circles on his temples, remembering a time not so very long ago when she'd wished she could soothe him like this, but couldn't. It had been at the Servants' Tea after a very strange night in London. Blushing, she now shook her head to banish the memory. Her thumbs pressed between his eyebrows and eased the tension there. She reached behind his head to massage his neck and relax his clenched jaw.

She continued, "No, you were lovely. Nothing untoward, unless you count flirting with your wife. But we shouldn't have let you have so much, you poor thing. Your head must feel like the wrath of God."

"That sounds about right. That stuff comes on slowly."

"It does. Something to keep in mind, I suppose. Now come along, you big bear, let's see what some tea, toast, and bacon can't do for you."

He groaned. "You're so good to me."

"It's easy to be good to you," she whispered. She kissed his forehead and got up lightly.

She smiled at him as she left the room, closing the door behind her.


	192. Chapter 192

**A/N I'm sad to say it, but I need to put this baby on hiatus! I have been neglecting my academic work and the semester starts up again soon and EEP! So. Thank you all SO MUCH for your support and for loving my sprawling story that holds a special place in my heart as well (I mean, I got to teach Elsie Hughes how to masturbate. I feel very lucky!) I will miss it, but I hope to return to it in a couple of weeks!**

**Thank you, as always, to ****kouw**** for wonderful support (including her support for my getting my shit together!). You're an absolute star!**

**And when I return, we'll have another look at getting that bed fixed, we'll meet Duncan, Charlie will serve tea, the Carsons will meet the baby, and ...other stuff will happen. It'll be terrific fun!**

**Before I put it on hiatus, though, I needed to help Charlie get over his hangover! So here we go...**

* * *

He groaned. "I'm such a fool. You're so good to me."

"It's easy to be good to you," she whispered. She kissed his forehead and got up lightly.

She smiled at him as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

"I think he fell back asleep, Els, you're going to have to ring a gong to get him out of bed!"

"A gong!" Turning the bacon, Elsie rolled her eyes at her sister for what felt like the twentieth time since their arrival.

Andra went on, laughing, "Oh lord, can you imagine? The —what did you call it again? — yes, the _dressing_ gong to wake up the Butler!"

"I know, the poor dear. It would probably send him into a panic!"

Bleary-eyed and pale but fully dressed, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Send whom into a panic?"

One look at him, and both sisters bit back identical smiles.

"Good morning, sunshine," Andra sang, handing him a mug of tea which he looked at blankly for half a second before giving a start, shaking his head at his lack of manners.

"Thank you. And good morning to you."

Andra grinned and motioned for him to sit down. "Toast will be up shortly; you can butter it, if you don't mind. And eat; you look like you could keel over!"

"I would be happy to," he rumbled vaguely. "What was this panic you were talking about?"

Elsie spoke smoothly, "Oh, we were talking about the rooster. Jack had to mend a hole in the fence, or else the dog would get into the chicken coop."

Charlie frowned. "And… this would make the rooster panic?"

"Aye, they do — it's not good for chickens to get a fright. They don't handle it well," Andra explained, her eyes dancing.

"I can't imagine it would be good for the dog either," Elsie continued with a laugh, turning to Andra.

"No, but do you remember the time those geese went after the other dog?"

Charlie looked from one woman to the other in horror. "D'you mean... they _killed_ it?"

For this he was treated to two matching head tilts, wrinkled noses, and grins. It was Elsie who started to speak first.

"Er, no — but —"

"No," Andra explained, "but they could have, I think, if he hadn't run _under_ the chicken coop so quickly. We had to lure him out with bacon. Ridiculous animal." She shook her head. "Actually, that sounds a bit like someone else I know."

His brain was too foggy to catch the barb, but he did see his wife swat her sister's backside with a floury hand.

"Don't you be calling my husband ridiculous, you little witch!" she laughed.

Andra gave a cackle — "I would _never_!" — and for a crazed, delighted moment he imagined the two of them mixing potions together. A roaring fire in blackest night with a cauldron of bubbling liquid.

* * *

His condition improved over the next few hours, thanks to rest, good food, and tea. By lunchtime he was recovered, if a bit tired. He laid the table for them — the long table in the dining room with place settings for the four of them plus Margaret and Christina, Moira and Donald, and Betsy.

Wee Glenna would sit on a lap.

_Right? Yes_.

He nodded to himself, hands clasped behind his back as he examined his work.

In the cottage, it had only been the two of them at their little round table. He'd laid the table there a hundred times, his sense of precision causing him to nudge things into place, eyeballing the distances. Now for the first time, he was aware of feeling free and relaxed instead of unsettled as he laid a long table without a measuring stick.

The table looked impeccable, of course, and Elsie smiled at him as she entered the room carrying a large board with a loaf of bread and a knife on it. She looked terribly pretty in a light green dress with an apron over it. As she placed the board on the table, a curl came loose from behind her ear and she reached to tuck it back. She looked up then to see her husband looking at her tenderly.

He extended his hand and she took it.

"Come here, my bonnie lass," he said softly, and twirled her around the room a few times. She laughed, enjoying him being so free with his affection for her. He imagined her younger, lively in this house, silly at that village dance from too much drink. He remembered her rosy in lamplight last night at the kitchen table, _naked in candlelight the night before that _—

_Good god, man. Not now._

And before things could get out of hand, he changed his plan. Instead of drawing her in close to kiss her, he spun her gracefully away from him, bowed, and kissed her hand. She curtseyed, a little smile curling her lips, making her eyes sparkle.

"Thank you, good sir. Now if you wouldn't mind bringing in the stew?"

"Not at all."

* * *

**tbc, when I can...**


	193. Chapter 193

**a/n Hi lovelies, I'm, er, ****_denting_**** the hiatus, partly because I'm sick of looking at this chapter in my NipS sandbox! :-D It was going to be 2 chapters, but I decided the first bit was really unsatisfying as a standalone after months of hiatus, so it's long-ish (for this story, that is)!**

**I can't promise I'll be updating terribly regularly, because I still haven't got my academic shite together. The reason for the hiatus is nothing more dire than that. It's just that I need to take care of real life responsibilities, blah blah blah. So! I hope you enjoy this leeeeetle update on how the goobers are doing.**

**Many thanks to my lovely beta and friend kouw, who keeps my writing comprehensible and informs me about all manner of things, including, but not limited to, farming, motherhood, manparts, and early 20th-century underwear. Thank you.**

**Thanks to all who read and review; you are wonderful and I appreciate every single note! Xoxox**

* * *

**P.S. I recommend rereading the last few chapters first; this might not make much sense otherwise.**

**.**

* * *

**.**

Moira joined them for lunch. Tired and beautiful, with dark hair and blue eyes, she smiled as she shook Charlie's hand. Slightly uncertain of what was proper, he held back from more, but Moira reached up to kiss him on the cheek. After the kiss he pulled back in surprise, delighted at this bit of familial affection. She hadn't the energy to needle him and instead she just smiled again, finding her new uncle rather endearing in his formality.

"How's wee Jack been treating you?" Elsie's voice was quiet in Moira's ear. She embraced her niece gently, careful not to press into her chest — she'd been an aunt enough times over to understand about a nursing mother's tender… _well._

"He's a good baby. He sleeps, he eats. What more can you ask for really?" Moira laughed softly, then lowered herself into a chair and thanked Elsie, who was ladling stew into a bowl for her. "And he's started smiling back, sometimes."

"Oh, that's lovely," Elsie responded softly, laying her hand on Moira's shoulder. Moira smiled back at her. Elsie nodded at her husband. A little smile crinkled his eyes and turned up one corner of his mouth.

* * *

After lunch, he watched as Elsie and Andra stirred sugar into their tea, twin swirls of steam rising from their cups. Andra had just made a joke — something about roosters panicking, to which Elsie responded offhand with something about a penguin being a better match. She gasped and covered her mouth in surprise at her own cheeky remark. It made no sense to him whatsoever. Andra too had the decency to look confused, while Elsie fixed her with a desperate stare, eyebrows high and the smile still twinkling in her eyes.

And then somehow Andra suddenly seemed to get the joke, so they laughed at each other, a pair of matching grins and wrinkled noses.

"_Weird sisters,_" he muttered into his cup before taking a sip.

They both turned to him, wondering what this oracular pronouncement might hold in store.

One looked amused, the other amused and puzzled. He looked up at them and realized with a start that they were waiting for more.

"Only, you're missing one. ...Ahh, I'm sorry," he shook his head, cursing himself for mentioning Glenna's death so flippantly. Now they both looked sympathetic, but they still waited.

"You know... three witches together. The Scottish Play —"

The showman in him must not have died away entirely, because he wouldn't even think the name of it.

Elsie's eyes went wide; her eyebrow flew up. She stared at him, then — highly amused — stared at her sister. "He's found out our secret," she told Andra in a mock-whisper.

Andra broke and cackled, "Aye Charlie, we were Shakespeare's inspiration. Didn't you know?"

He chuckled softly, then shook his head and turned back to his tea.

* * *

The following afternoon, Elsie found Moira nursing the baby in the sitting room. Andra sat knitting, and when Elsie entered she looked up, smiled, and indicated Moira with a nod and raised eyebrows.

"Might I have a look?"

It took a moment before Moira responded. Her attention had been focused entirely on Jack, and the question registered only vaguely. In the pause that followed, she looked up, blinking, a bit dazed. Then she smiled and nodded at her aunt, who approached.

Moira looked down and spoke softly to her two-month-old son.

"Now then, my wee Jack, do you want to meet your Auntie Bonnietess?

Andra always used to tell her little ones when their "bonnie aunt Elsie" was coming to visit, and somehow with Moira it had always stuck. In a childish version, of course. Through the years, endless variations had emerged: Bontessie, Bessietonnie, even Countess Bonnie — _that_ one, from an eight-year-old Moira, had made Elsie's eyebrows shoot upward. The girl must have found out that her auntie worked for a Countess, but did not grasp the enormous difference in class.

Elsie had never minded the nicknames. Quite the contrary, really.

She sat down next to Moira and saw the tiny boy happily suckling away.

"Oh lass, he's beautiful."

"Thank you." Moira leaned her head on Elsie's shoulder.

Charlie entered the sitting room and smiled upon seeing Andra, his smile deepening when his eyes settled on Elsie and Moira. He gave a start as he realized what Moira was doing as she sat in the rocking chair — holding a tiny bundle to her bosom. Though the baby's head hid most of her breast, he was embarrassed by the intimacy of the scene.

Moira rolled her eyes as he mumbled his excuses and fled.

"It's like he's never seen a breast before," she deadpanned. She sat up, pulling an eyebrow at her aunt, who gasped and blushed.

Andra piped up, nodding toward her daughter: "Well — not like _this,_ I think."

"You two are too much alike," Elsie said with mock exasperation, "but he'll come round. He's eager to meet the wee babe.


	194. Chapter 194

**a/n okay, it's another dent in the hiatus. worrying about my dissertation and not writing my dissertation makes me sad, and writing this and reading your reviews makes me happy, which I am hoping to channel into courage to write the damn dissertation. and also this chapter is sitting in the "sandbox" doc all ready to go and now it's just in my way, so here ya go! :D**

**Thanks to all who read and review, including you lovely guest reviewers. And special thanks to my dear ****kouw**** who helps me articulate the things. Also! She helped come up with Elsie's nickname, which was wonderful of her, because I was struggling with the oddness of Moira calling her "Granny Elsie" in one scene and snickering in the next scene about Charlie seeing her boobs. LOLZ BAHAHAHA. Tessiebonita is far enough removed from anything grandmotherly, thank goodness... (Maybe Moira is learning Spanish? hehehe i don't think so, but it's a fun idea)**

**Okay, here goes...**

**.**

* * *

**.**

Mumbling an apology for disturbing the women, Charlie turned and left the room.

He nearly collided with Jack in the corridor.

"Steady on, mate!" Jack laughed, catching his brother-in-law's upper arm. He was shorter than Charlie. The wiry, agile type, stronger than he looked.

"I —I beg your pardon, Jack — I just, I — Moira was —"

Jack shook his head sympathetically and interrupted him. "Come on." He gestured for Charlie to follow him.

He let Jack lead the way, down the corridor to the coat hooks. Outside, they stood a few feet apart and looked out at the hills, squinting, watching their breath dissipate in the cold air.

"She's feedin' her bairn, isn't she?" Jack glanced at him and he nodded. "Took me some time to get used to that too, when they were first born and Andra used to...well."

He stopped, seeing Charlie's discomfort.

"Would you like to see the farm?"

This new possibility seemed to jolt Charlie back to the present.

"Er, yes. Thank you; that would be nice."

* * *

Charlie and Jack reached one of the barns.

"It's a good job we're here. I forgot about this until the two of you arrived, but I've been meanin' to tighten some screws on that guest bed. And it needs grease —"

And suddenly Charlie was choking violently, on _nothing,_ on his own saliva, he supposed. He felt ridiculous; it was completely undignified, and all because he was thinking of _that, good_ _god_—

Jack thumped him vigorously on the back, laughing a bit through his concerned frown.

Still coughing, Charlie tried to discern any sign of mischief in Jack's face. There was none.

_The man is a star of the stage or a heavy sleeper, _he thought. _That, or he's simply too kind to let on._

Deciding to believe that Jack had heard nothing, Charlie looked at him with interest. But he was already turning away, choosing wrenches and screwdrivers, and handing them to Charlie.

"The thing is like a banshee when a few screws are loose, but those should do the trick. I'll tighten it up when we get back to the house."

"Thank you." Charlie looked at the tools in his hands, feeling their heft. He hadn't done this kind of work in years, and he rather looked forward to it.

"Och, nothing to thank me for; you must have had a terrible time sleeping on it! I never hear a thing, but Andra reminded me this morning about fixing it up. I don't usually forget a thing like that with family coming, but with the new bairn everything's been a bit topsy turvy. I am sorry about that. Now where is that grease...aha." And he took it down from the shelf..

The way Jack had called him _family_ made Charlie feel proud. More than he could say. He had to swallow hard and take a deep breath. _No need to be too sentimental_, he told himself, not when he'd only just met this man. He managed to speak evenly.

"Thank you, Jack. Thank you very much indeed."

Charlie was staring at the tools in his hands. Jack saw how he'd frozen in place, clearly engaged in some internal struggle.

He spoke briskly then, kindly, stopping just short of clapping the bigger man on the back again. "We're glad you're here, mate." And after a very short pause, "I'll just be outside."

Charlie looked up, nodding vaguely. "Thank you."

After a few minutes, Charlie joined his brother-in-law outside, and they walked back together. A fine mist hung in the air.

They were still five minutes' walk away from the house when the downpour started.


	195. Chapter 195

**a/n: Hi lovelies! I can't even tell you how much I have enjoyed the response to this story. I LOVE YOU!**

**Darling fellow Chelsie shippers, here is another chapter for us. Enjoy!**

**Thank you to kouw for being my wonderful wonderful beta. You're all kinds of fabulous. And thank you everyone who reblogs and reviews; every note brings me joy. Thanks! That includes you lovely guest reviewers too. xoxoxo.**

* * *

After a few minutes, Charlie joined his brother-in-law outside, and they walked back together. A fine mist hung in the air.

They were still five minutes' walk away from the house when the downpour started.

* * *

Elsie looked out of the kitchen window for what must have been the tenth time in three minutes. Andra called to her from the dough she was kneading.

"They're _fine_, Els. They'll have taken shelter somewhere."

Just then the door opened and two dripping men entered, huffing and puffing about the cold and the wet. Andra strode into the corridor and gave an exaggerated gasp, one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a wooden spoon at each of them in turn. Charlie had the impression of being scolded by a version of Mrs Patmore whose wicked grin matched Elsie's.

"Jack Ferguson, you get those muddy boots right out of my house! You too,_ Mr Carson_."

Charlie's eyes went wide in equal parts terror, fascination, and delight, as he saw the stern side of his wife echoed in her younger sister. And just like with his Elsie sometimes, the frown didn't reach her eyes.

They obeyed, removing their shoes where they stood.

"And take those wet things off! Yes, you too, Charlie. I won't have the two of you getting ill."

Grimacing with embarrassment, Charlie stripped down to his trousers, socks, and undershirt.

Jack did the same but without the embarrassment, calling out to his wife and sister-in-law, "Ye just want to see us strapping lads in our underthings, don't ye?"

Charlie could not help the short bark of shocked laughter that escaped him.

Andra came closer, laughing at them. "You look like a pair of drowned rats."

Charlie looked on helplessly as Andra fussed over her husband. She dispatched Jack upstairs to the bath with a floury smack to his bottom, which he promptly returned, sans flour. He had to shift his clothing and the tool bag to one hand to do it, but he managed.

Andra turned to Charlie, who was too flustered even to wonder where Elsie was. "You've got to go warm up too. There's a shower that's nicer than the bath; Elsie can show you where it is."

Then she patted him on the shoulder, turned, and disappeared into the kitchen — and Elsie emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. She seemed to laugh a little at the sight of him.

His jaw dropped; his breath caught in his throat. She was flushed, her smile radiant, her hair curling away from her face — from the heat and humidity of the kitchen, no doubt. The women were preparing soup and bread and heaven knew what else; it smelled delicious. Her eyes shone at him as she untied the apron. Then she disappeared. He ran a hand through his dripping hair and waited, not knowing what else to do.

In the kitchen, she hung up her apron and leaned her head against the kitchen cabinet, her palm resting lightly against the wood. Her eyes slid closed; she bit her lip. She knew he probably had no idea how he'd looked to her. He'd taken her breath away, standing there in his undershirt and socked feet, drops of water falling from the tips of his hair.

_His hair._ He must have run his fingers through it, she supposed. It was curling in all directions, and she was fairly sure she'd even seen a drop of water on his lower lip, his eyes gone dark as he'd stared at her —

She wondered madly what _she'd_ looked like to _him._

A tiny shake of her head, a deep breath, and then she opened her eyes and stood upright again, only to catch Andra looking at her sympathetically.

"Go on, then," her younger sister encouraged her. "Your poor man is freezing out there."

"Y- yes. Quite right," Elsie said vaguely. She touched her hair, trying to check whether it was at all tidy. "Remind me — er — remind me to — to check the bread when I get back."

Andra nodded, then smiled affectionately as her older sister steeled herself and left the room.

* * *

**.**

**a/n how are you doing, bbe? i hope you'll leave me a review. pretty please with a picture of dripping-wet charlie carson on top. (heh heh, "on top") or a picture of rosy, flushed elsie carson instead. or both pictures. pretty please with a huge pile of pretty mental images on top. whatever. xoxoxo**


	196. Chapter 196

**Evil string of popcorn is evil... Thanks for reading and reviewing! MWAH**

* * *

"Y- yes. Quite right," Elsie said vaguely. She touched her hair, trying to check whether it was at all tidy. "Remind me — er — remind me to — to check the bread when I get back."

Andra nodded, then smiled affectionately as her older sister steeled herself and left the kitchen.

* * *

Elsie couldn't have articulated what made her stop in their bedroom instead of going straight down to the kitchen after showing him the shower room. Couldn't have articulated it, didn't quite feel the need to put it into words, but knew exactly what it was.

Closing her eyes, feeling her heart pounding, she began to unbutton her dress.

When she'd undone her suspenders and was about to start on her stockings, she thought better of it and simply wrapped up in her dressing gown. The unfamiliar sensation of her suspender clips bouncing, glancing against her bare thighs made her gasp in surprise, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. Closing her eyes, she shook her head once.

_I must be insane, _she thought. Hearing the shower start, she imagined the way he would look with hot water streaming down his body. _I'll just stay a minute. Just to see that he's alright._

Another part of her smirked at her own deliberations — _down to your knickers just to have a peek at him, hmm?_ — and she bit back a smile, certain she was blushing.

The sight of him just in from the storm had been... breathtaking. Standing there in his undershirt — dripping mess of hair, white shirt against tan skin, drops of rain soaking into it and lingering on his collarbones, and then his _eyes_ (laughing, then wide in shock at Andra and Jack's flirtation, and then so dark as he'd looked at her) —she'd fled into the kitchen to avoid rushing to him in front of her sister — kissing him, drinking raindrops from his skin.

Her heart pounded harder as she opened the door and made her silent way down the corridor.

* * *

TBC, of course! I would love to hear from you. xoxoxo

many many many thanks to kouw who is a wonderful beta and a wonderful human being.


	197. Chapter 197

**More popcorn... (Check back to 196 first if you haven't read it.) Thank you kouw for being my wonderful beta!**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! MWAH. Here's Charlie in the shower. :-)**

* * *

A groan, a shiver. Another shiver as blessed hot water cascaded over his chilled skin. Down his shoulders, his back; he'd not realized how cold he'd gotten until the water hit him.

He rubbed soap on his body, moving fast in order to conserve water.

Images from the day ran through his head. His pretty Elsie in light green, twirling in the dining room. Moira and her baby. Elsie's smile. Jack coming to his rescue. The cold rain. The promise of a quiet bed through old tools, grease, and manual labor.

Elsie, flushed from the heat of cooking, her hair's defiant waves escaping her control, that gentle smile in her shining eyes. _Gentle, and something else_ —

He'd stared at her bitten lip — and only their acute awareness of Andra not ten feet away kept him from dragging his thumb over that lip, leaning down and pulling her to him —

Eyes closed against the water running over him, he smiled at the memory and hummed low, once, before catching himself with a frown — someone might hear him if he kept on like that. He knew he would need to calm down a bit before emerging from the room, and he shook his head at himself, at his thoughts of her.

He vigorously worked the shampoo through his hair, letting the water wash it away. As such he neither saw nor heard her open the door.

He did hear the door _close_. Startled, he rushed to wipe his eyes, then froze, staring at her.

She stared back, watching him standing there half erect. She saw the shock in his eyes, soon replaced by wonder and tenderness. And even more than before, she thought she must have lost her mind, because another idea came to her mind and she was going to do it, caution be damned, _sod it_, she was going to _do it_ —

He didn't register what she was wearing until he saw her start to slip out of it.

With her back to him, she slowly let the dressing gown fall down her shoulders. She turned her head and he could see her in profile, a small smile on her lips.

The robe continued to slip down and he could see what she was wearing. Which was all of her underthings.

He forgot to breathe as she dropped the robe.


	198. Chapter 198

**Pop pop popcorn!**

**Many thanks to all who read and review and who spread the tumblr love!**

**Special thanks to kouw for beta magic!**

* * *

With her knee just slightly bent, and at a much slower speed than was strictly necessary, she rolled her stocking down.

She glanced at him — he had gone completely still — and gave him a tiny smile.

She let the stocking drop onto her dressing gown, then began on the other. This was all rather thrilling — and so _very_ new for her. It reassured her to see the look in his eyes and the effect she was having on his body.

She turned away from him again — half shy, half wicked.

Then a bit of a back bend, chest pushed out as she undid the clasps of her brassiere. She held it to herself as she turned toward him, a saucy little smile and she was taking it off, straps slipping down one arm, then the other — and she dropped it onto the growing pile of delicate garments.

He groaned as she started to pull the waistband of her knickers down, just a tiny bit. She turned toward him, smiled, pulled them back up. At his desperate look, she had mercy on him and pulled them down, stepping out of them where they pooled on the floor.

For the fifth or sixth time, he ran a hand down his face, hardly believing that this siren before him was truly doing what she was doing.

Fully, gloriously naked, she stepped toward him.

"Charlie..."

"Ummm."

Not entirely certain why, she suddenly felt just a touch shy again.

"Are you alright? I… I mean, you're warming up?"

He nodded. The water was growing cold and he broke eye contact to turn away, shut off the water, turned back to her and she reached toward him. Her hand landed softly on his hip as her eyes flicked up to meet his.


	199. Chapter 199

**popcorn popcorn popcorn... popporn, porn porn... ? huh?  
thank you so much for the tumblr love and the reading and reviewing. ya might want to check back to 196 if you've missed my last few posts. it's not like i've made progress on my dissertation or anything; i'm just ready to get these chapters out of my way. ;-) i hope you enjoy! many many thanks, you all, and special thanks to ****kouw**** for beta magic. you've been amazing with this whole thing, especially with this arc!**

**xoxo, dee**

* * *

"Elsie?" His voice was half-whisper.

"Hmmm," she replied, her thumb caressing his skin, and she took a step closer.

Transfixed by the drops of water that had formed on his chest, she brought her other hand to rest on his bicep, fingertips just touching him. Then she came to him, kissing his chest, and he gasped softly as her lips touched his nipple, sipping water from his skin.

Her body brushed the underside of his erection and he exhaled harshly, his body tensing. She pressed closer to him where he stood, softness of her belly against the hard silk of him, heated skin together, one second both breathless and motionless.

She knew; they _both_ knew that they _couldn't_ — not right now — and so she relented, backing away just enough to lose that contact — and she laid her forehead on his chest. Still, her hand at his hip trailed up to rest at his lower back and she slid her other hand down his arm to hold his hand. Standing together that way, they took several deep and trembling breaths.

"Elsie..." he groaned, and she opened her eyes. She didn't look up at him but hummed in response, turning her head against him, pressing another kiss to his chest. She took another deep breath, quickly, and gathered her courage.

He brought his free hand up to touch her, but it only hovered over her, just missing landing on her shoulder, because suddenly she was kissing down his belly, dropping his hand and gently touching his erection with warm fingertips.

He jerked at her touch and then he could hear the pleased smile in her soft moan.

But she kept moving downward, kissing her way, and nothing could have prepared him for the sensation when she slowly put her lips around him. She stroked him tentatively with the tip of her tongue, her hand lightly wrapped around the base of his shaft as her other hand stroked down from his back, cupping his bum.

"Oh my god —" He choked out the words, lost as he was to his emotions (_she's doing this she's really doing this how is this possible can she like it please don't stop_), and very nearly lost his balance, stumbling backward and catching himself with his hands against the wall.

It was over before it began. His movement caused him to pull out of her mouth. For her it was a bit of a shock; more so for him — he curled forward, his mouth open, breathing fast as he tried to regain his footing.

She gasped at the loss of contact, reaching for him with open hands, her eyes half-closed again— but then, with a blink and a tiny shake of her head, she rose to her feet. They stood facing each other, hands finding one another and holding on. Overwhelmed, he met her eyes with a shy grin, helpless eyebrows rising — then reached for her, back of his fingers tender on her cheek. She turned her face to his touch.

Just as her eyes fell closed and her body started to sway toward him, she caught the scent of the bread baking downstairs. She gave a start, her eyes flying open. Somehow she kept her voice quiet, practically _hissing_ the words in her half-panicked state —

"I...Oh no no no, oh _shite_, I forgot, the dinner, the bread, I have to —"

Her curse didn't even register with him, as alarmed as he was by her sudden upset. He raised his eyebrows, staring mutely at her in wonder, shock, desire, trying to figure out what the problem was — and part of him wanted to weep, overwhelmed at what she was just doing to him, _for_ him — and at the abrupt stop she'd put to it. _He'd_ put to it. _Whichever_.

He shook his head, his mouth open a little in bewilderment as the frantic words continued to rush from her mouth. She was already casting about, trying to think of the fastest way to get dressed again and _get downstairs_, _for heaven's sake, what was I about, coming in here like this_ —

"Charlie, I — oh lord, look at you, I'm so sorry, love, I wanted — I want — to — I'm so sorry, Andra will be waiting..."


	200. Chapter 200

**moar popcorn! ermahferkerngerd, 200 chapters?! Ridonk.**

**Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reads and reviews and shares the tumblr love! I have so enjoyed the response to this story. We're in smut-frustration land now, but you know me; my favorite pastime is making the goobers wait and then getting them off. Here's hoping it's a leetle bit believable and not entirely OOC. bwahahaha.**

**every note and review brings me joy. i love hearing what you think of this. thank you thank you!**

**special thanks to my fabulous beta, ****kouw****! you're so lovely!**

* * *

She felt _awful_, leaving him like that.

"I'm so, so sorry, love, I'm _so_ sorry. Later… If — if you want me to?" She stared at him for a frantic half-second, wide-eyed and questioning, but before he could respond (_yes dear god please yes I want you to yes yes you must please yes will you won't you please), _she was fussing again, trembling hands picking up stockings knickers girdle everything she would have to put on again and rush downstairs and hope no one had noticed how _very _long she'd been gone and how _very _flustered she was—

"Andra will be waiting, she'll be suspecting _something_, oh Lord — "

Despite his frustrated arousal, he truly felt for her in her sudden panic.

She'd gathered her things and wrapped herself up in her dressing gown again so quickly, he'd barely caught his balance before she was hurrying to the door, already trying to rally a matter-of-fact demeanor.

At his voice, she spun around to face him.

"El—" Words caught in his throat and he coughed. "Elsie. Elsie, _please_ —" His hands, open at his sides, and her desperate look.

"Wha— I… I _can't_, darling, I —"

"No, love, it's just — _wait_, just a second, please —"

He wasn't even sure what he was going to say until she turned back to him, looking frightened, tired, irritated — he couldn't list the emotions if he tried, but she couldn't go out there like _that_ and maybe he could help her.

"You've got, er, your hair —"

She looked at him in confusion, her free hand automatically reaching up toward her head.

He continued, watching her while he fumbled for the towel, "It's — it's a little bit wet, let me —"

So she came back to him, letting him dab off the droplets that had somehow landed on her hair. A smile curled the corners of her mouth and she breathed in deep, her heart slowing just a little.

"Thank you," she said when he was done. Their eyes met, she squeezed his hand, and then she was gone.

He smiled ruefully, shaking his head, sighing as he heard their bedroom door close. Absently, he dried himself, mussing his hair even further. His worry at her panic had already lessened his arousal somewhat, and his body calmed further as he deliberately thought of the walk with Jack, the tools, and what they might yet accomplish before dinner.

Hanging up the towel and reaching for his dressing gown, he laughed out loud.

_Shite_, she'd said.


	201. Chapter 201

**popcorn. andra, you naughty minx.**

**thank you so much for your reviews! i'm sorry i haven't been responding. but i love every one of them. that includes you, darling guest reviewers, to whom i couldn't respond if i tried. wish i could though. thank you.**

**special thanks as always to ****kouw**** for beta maaaagiiiiiic!**

* * *

She'd _missed_ one. Cursing again, she undid the ten or so buttons above the mistake, redid them, then checked the looking glass once more. _There,_ she thought as she checked her hair. _Tidy enough._

One more deep breath, and she opened the bedroom door, walking along with the housekeeper's purposeful stride and impassive face.

_No, Els, _she thought, _it won't do to look __too_ _stern. _She softened her expression. _You're at home. Making dinner with Andra, just an ordinary evening. There's no need to dwell on it, lass. You've more pressing things to do than think about putting your mouth on that man again..._

Thinking that perhaps _nothing_ could be more pressing than the thought of putting her mouth on that man again, she gasped, gave herself a shake, and went on her way.

By the time she got to the kitchen, she looked and felt almost normal again.

If Andra suspected anything, she didn't let on.

* * *

Just as he was tying his shoes, he heard a knock on the bedroom door.

"Just a moment," Charlie called out, then opened the door to find Jack there with the bag of tools.

"What do you say we have a look at that contraption?" Jack asked, nodding toward the bed.

"Er, yes. Do we... remove the mattress?"

"Aye. Well, the linens first —"

Jack's matter-of-factness dispelled Charlie's initial discomfort at the thought of the two of them handling the sheets he and Elsie had shared. It wasn't that they weren't clean, heavens no — _that_ idea made him almost choke (on nothing, again, and he thanked heaven it didn't happen) — it was just that it seemed so _intimate_ somehow.

Like family, he supposed. Like… well, like brothers, helping with the housework. And so both men made quick work of removing blankets and sheets, folding them up, and lifting the mattress from the frame.

Just as they finished their work greasing and tightening up the bed, they heard Andra calling them down to dinner.

* * *

"What on earth is keeping them?"

"Maybe Jack's got the sniffles and Charlie's serving him tea," Elsie joked.

Andra raised an eyebrow at Elsie. "Hah. But then your butler would've had to come to the kitchen for that, lassie."

"That's true."

"Maybe Charlie got lost and Jack went to look for him."

"Not likely, I took him straight to the shower room," Elsie said lightly as she took the pot of vegetables off the stove to drain it.

"Oh, _did_ you now?"

Elsie's eyes went wide. She thanked heaven for the steam that obscured her from view, and then for the well-timed arrival of the men. They came in together, their hair still just a little damp and their hands freshly scrubbed.

"All warmed up?" Andra asked them both, and they nodded, Jack kissing her on the cheek, and Charlie trying and failing to look nonchalant as he looked at Elsie with a question in his eyes. She reached for him and clasped his hand, smiling back at him, _not letting on, for heaven's sake _—

"I'm glad you're alright," she said brightly, "no sniffles here, please!" _I sound insane. "_Would you mind bringing those to the dining room?" She indicated a substantial stack of dishes, cutlery on top.

"Not at all." He glanced at her bitten lip, his eyes twinkling, and then he took on the butler role to hide his — embarrassment? excitement? trepidation? All three, he thought, maybe. _And delight, love, desire, oh __stop_ _it, man, and go lay the table._

She carried the basket of bread and they both left the room. Neither of them saw Andra pick a small fluffy white something from Jack's hair.

She held the feather up to the light.

"Oh, thank heaven. You've got the bed sorted, then?"

"Aye. I'd meant to get to it before they arrived."

"Thank you for that," she laughed. "The poor dears must have slept terribly."


	202. Chapter 202

**a large-ish kernel of popcorn this time. **

**many thanks for tumblr love and reading and reviewing, including the guest reviewers! including the guest reviewers too who leave me reviews on previous chapter as they're making their way through the long and winding trail of popcorn! it means a lot to me. so thank you.**

**special thanks to kouw as always for beta magic; i needed a lot of it here! and thank you kissman for help with ideas for the dinner scene.**

* * *

Dinner was indeed lovely. The soup was perfect, hot and delicious, dispelling the last of the chill that lingered for both men after the storm. There was fresh bread with the most delicious butter Charlie had ever tasted. Charlie was effusive in complimenting everything, to the delight of both cooks. He and Elsie sat together at the long table, flanked by Andra and Jack and, across from the young ones: Donald and Moira, with Glenna and Betsy both looking none too happy to be sitting in their high chairs instead of a lap.

She watched her hands making the motions of eating, saw her fingers wrapped lightly around her knife and fork, glanced at his hands and quickly looked back at her plate. She would have liked to take his hand right then and pull him away. In her mind, the noise of children and cutlery faded as they went through the door, up the stairs, and into their room. She imagined pushing him against the door, kneeling, opening his trousers and touching him gently, insistently, pleasuring him until he was frantic and weak in the knees. Then she would take him to the bed and _slowly, quiet quiet quiet_ climb over him and start again, tasting him, feeling him in her mouth again, stroking him, loving him until he finally let go for her...

Instead she ate, drank, and talked with her family. The sight of small children across from her helped curb her thoughts, even though she was fairly convinced she could could feel his voice rumbling through the bench they shared.

He made some small joke; Betsy giggled and made everyone laugh, and Elsie leaned against him — a short, playful nudge. He managed not to react visibly — there were other people present; there were _children_ present, for god's sake!

He seemed stiff and uncomfortable. She understood why, though a tiny part of her wondered momentarily if he could have been put off by her little touch. She turned toward him, leaning away to do so, and laughed gently at him, her lovely man with all of that unneeded propriety and reserve. She couldn't have known that on top of everything else (_hot water her striptease soft warm skin her hands lips tongue on him)_, he was also fighting off _other_ images of her that came unbidden to his mind. That now-quiet bed had him imagining her riding him, bouncing, barely holding in her screams of pleasure as she rose and fell on him, quickly, slowly, rolling her hips against him, taking him inside her over and over again —

He blinked. Someone had asked him a question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you were miles away, Charlie. Are you alright? I was just wondering how you liked your little walk on the farm."

"Oh," he answered Andra carefully, "it was lovely, thank you. I used to help with the horses when I was a wee laddie so..."

_There. Nothing said about the tools and grease or _—

He was interrupted by the burst of laughter from around the table. He hadn't noticed as everyone froze mid-bite and stared at him. Elsie grinned at him with that wrinkled nose, Jack was roaring with laughter, and even Moira was laughing, eyebrows up, looking a bit helpless through her fatigue. Andra caught her breath —

"Oh my lord, Charlie, she didn't tell us you could do _that!_"

He closed his eyes, chuckling at himself. Without realizing it — which was uncommon; he was usually very aware of his impersonations — he'd said the whole thing in a very good imitation of Elsie's accent. He might have overdone it _slightly _with the "wee laddie" bit.

"Well," his lovely bride said, "I couldn't go telling you _all_ of his secrets, now, could I?"

Frankly, Charlie was relieved: it could have gone badly. They could have been offended — a Sassenach imitating their speech — but clearly that was the last thing in the world that they were, because already Andra was suggesting they should have him read from Burns after supper.

"Burns? Oh… er. Maybe... if you read it out loud first, but if you want a good laugh at my _expense_ instead of whatever meagre talent I might pretend to possess, I can try to read it cold."

Elsie and Andra both rolled their eyes at his over-polite modesty.

"Read it cold?" Jack asked.

"Oh, it just means I would've never seen the words before. A word from the theatre world, I suppose."

Jack couldn't hold back his surprise — "Theatre, indeed? Good god man, what have you been keeping from us?"

"Oh…" He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly worrying that his wife's family disapproved of him.

"Charlie," Elsie touched his arm gently. He opened his eyes again and looked at her gentle smile, then around the table, only to see them all looking at him with concern and what looked like… maybe... delight? anticipation? He couldn't tell. All except Andra, who glared wide-eyed at her husband. Jack tried to clarify.

"I didn't mean it like that, mate, no. I'm impressed. Sounds like you're a man of hidden talents."

Elsie forced herself not to bite her lip or gasp or even blink at Jack's comment, but breathed normally despite her suddenly thudding heart. He couldn't have known how very risqué it sounded.

"So!" Andra said brightly, "A Burns night it is, then. Burns night in December! We'll have no haggis, but there'll be tea in a moment, and then our new English brother-in-law reading Burns. Will wonders never cease!"


	203. Chapter 203

**a/n** **Oh heavens, this has been a long time coming and they haven't even started on the poetry reading yet. ffffk. MANY thanks to kouw for your patience and help with this! **

* * *

During dinner he'd gone rather quiet after they agreed on the Burns night. His Elsie had noticed (of course); as they stood to clear the table she had asked him if he was alright. With big blue eyes, bitten lip, concern in her furrowed brow. Her hair curling around her face and it had been all he could do not to pull her away from all of this, to reveal the surprise of the repaired bed. But she had asked him a question and he wouldn't leave her without a response. Yes, he was alright; yes, he would read Burns aloud if he wouldn't be the only one reading. She'd kissed him on the cheek, reassuring him that all would be well.

_But still._

It was strange, willingly putting himself at the center of attention like this. Of course he'd done it a thousand times as butler. The predetermined rules of conduct defined for him the boundaries of his character — the role he used to play. Here and now he was performing as _himself_, and it threw him off-balance.

* * *

Elsie handed one of the books to her man: _Burns _— _Works, vol. I._

"These were a wedding gift to our parents," she told him.

"Oh my," he gasped quietly, turning the book over in his hands.

He touched the book so delicately, it made Elsie's heart clench. She looked up at Andra and received a kind smile in return.

* * *

It was strange doing this for _adults_. A lifetime ago, and rarely at that, he used to do silly things to make the young ladies laugh. Three beautiful girls — haughty, mournful, earnest, and now he suddenly wondered how they were faring. _Only the two, that is_ —and he was struck by the memory of that sweet girl's last night on this earth and the gentle hand Mrs Hughes had laid on his arm.

He thought of Betsy and Christina and how he might like to help with that tea party one of these days. But the girls were sleeping and here he was without a character into which he could disappear — and no one but adults there to watch him try to put on some act for them.

Even on stage with Charlie Grigg he'd had a role to play. Oh, he'd made a right fool of himself back then, but at least he hadn't been _alone_.

* * *

Like the other three volumes of the set, this book was marbled on the side, with gilt letters on the red spine. _1819_, the frontispiece informed him. And on the inside was a note in faded writing:

"_To our son Duncan and his bride Fiona  
__May God be with you and bless you.  
__May you see your children's children.  
__May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings.  
__May you know nothing but happiness  
__From this day forward._

_Your loving parents  
__Richard &amp; Mary Hughes  
__25 May 1861_

_Lang may your lum reek!"_

He looked up, indicating the note. "What's this — 'Lang may your lum reek'?"

"Oh, yes," she explained, "they say that for weddings sometimes." She bit back a grin, waiting for his inevitable question.

"But what does it mean?"

Elsie feigned mild surprise at his question. "Oh! It's a blessing; it means 'may your… er… silver polish never stop stinking."

"_What?"_

Andra had watched the exchange with some amusement and now she laughed out loud at her sister, who pursed her lips, valiantly struggling to keep a straight face.

* * *

It _was_ funny; he loved that his Elsie teased him and found such joy in sisterly mischief, but it also showed him how little he understood of Scots and how very much he was at their mercy.

His previous audiences had been anonymous drunkards long ago, young children, and of course more recently, _her_. Now here he was, vulnerable... and in love with their kinswoman, and about to imitate their tongue. _Embarrassing._

He swallowed hard.

_Good lord, what have I got myself into? What kind of fool would do such a thi_—

And then it was so _obvious_, he wanted to slap his own forehead. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to fail and lose everything. It simply wouldn't happen; the stakes weren't so high as that. This wasn't the Cheerful Charlies; this was _her family,_ who had welcomed him with open arms.

And the poetry was the script; it would define the character. He wasn't going to understand all of it, but, well... he decided he would have to be brave.

_And_, he supposed, he had to trust that those two wicked lassies would tell him the actual meaning of what he was saying.

He shook his head at the two of them, then looked at Jack.

"My sympathies, mate," Jack said with raised eyebrows and a shake of the head, "but I am glad there're two of us now. By the way, it means 'long may your chimney smoke.' It's a blessing for a long life in a happy home."

"Thank you, Jack. You two —" he lowered thunderous brows at Elsie and Andra, who sat together with matching Cheshire cat grins — "are incorrigible."

It was Andra who responded, still laughing. "Aye, and now we're family and you're stuck with us, _Mr Carson._"

"Oh, but I wouldn't have it any other way." His voice was deep and his tone was soft and musical, and it all made Elsie's breath catch in her throat.


	204. Chapter 204

**a/n I had to do a bit of research here, so there are lots of notes at the bottom and I'll have the info &amp; links on my tumblr as well: deeedeeedeeedeee dot tumblr dot com.**

**Thank you so much to the ever-lovely ****kouw** **who has given me loads of beta help (always, and especially on these Burns Night chapters). And thank you so much to everyone who reads, reviews, likes, reblogs, favorites and follows. You're fabulous and I appreciate every note, especially your reviews! This includes you, darling guest reviewers. MWAH.**

* * *

He began turning the pages.

"Oh, this one looks interesting. 'To a Mouse, on Turning her Up in Her Nest with a Plough,'" he intoned, still quite moved by the precious piece of family history he held in his hands, but amused at the poem's title.

"Well, really it's '_Tae a Moose._'" Jack's comment drew a grin from Charlie, who began reading aloud in a deliberately _very_ English, very _pompous_ manner:

_"Wee, sleekit cowering timorous _—_"_

Elsie rose laughing from her chair — "Oh, oh _no,_ Charlie_._ No. Here, let me read it for you." She took the book from his hands and settled in beside him on the settee.

He'd never heard her speak Scots before. _Gaelic_, yes — he'd heard little snippets. Declarations of love whose translations she'd disguised as "pease porridge" and "stewed tea," and in frantic exclamations — whispered, chanted, moaned — in moments he tried hard not to remember now.

_Scots_, though. This was wholly different — and it was _delicious_.

"_Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,  
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!"_

"D'you understand what I'm sayin'?" She spoke lightly, looking up halfway through her question.

"Er, mostly, yes, I think so."

He glanced up — her face wasn't six inches from his and he quickly looked back down at the page. She looked down again as well, wearing the smallest hint of a smirk.

So they went through the poem, two or three lines at a time. They paused occasionally to fix his pronunciation — or when the language tripped him up.

"'_A daimen,' _alright, so it's a demon — but '_icker in a thrave'_?"

"Aye, Charlie," Jack replied.

"I've got no idea what I'm saying." He sounded baffled and affectionate all at once.

* * *

He imitated the sounds quite well indeed. Occasionally he attempted to read Scots aloud from the written word alone; Andra cheerfully dubbed the result "an abomination."

"_Andra_!" Elsie scolded.

"No, no —" he interjected, laughing at himself and secretly quite proud of his ability to do so — "she's _quite_ right. Now what's this bit about leaves and stibble?"

* * *

He finally got through "Tae a Moose" and set the book down, nodding in thanks for their applause as he massaged his jaw and declared in Elsie's brogue,

"That's very hard work, I don't know how you lot do it all day long." Then in his own accent (mostly), "Now what on _earth_ is a cranreuch?"

"Oh Lord help me, what _is_ that? Elsie, do you remember?"

Elsie scoffed. "My wee sister took over the _farm_ and she doesn't know cranreuch from a... a knapdarloch!"

Andra guffawed at her sister. "Och Elsie, you cheeky thing —"

Elsie shushed her and turned to Charlie. "Cranreuch is a _frost_, darling," she said, nudging him with her shoulder. Momentarily stuck between the image of frost on trees and the Scots word without an English word to pin to it, she waved her hand for a second as if summoning a response from the air. "Er, hoarfrost! Aye, that's what it is."

"Ah," he nodded.

"Are you going to tell him what a knapdarloch is, then?" Andra's efforts to hold back laughter were failing.

"Absolutely not!" Elsie's nose wrinkled in an expression he'd never seen before; half amused, half disgusted. "Now hand me that book, you wicked thing."

She quickly found the right page and began to read "The Braw Wooer" aloud.

He understood the plot, basically: the narrator loved the young man, pretended she didn't, and then became jealous when he courted another. The final stanza was awfully charming in Elsie's voice:

"_He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,  
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;  
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,  
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow;  
I think I maun wed him to-morrow."_

"If _maun_ is 'must,' then that's very true, my dear."

"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, biting her lip. He returned her smile, his eyes sparkling.

Jack followed with "Anna thy Charms," changing the name to "Andra" to amuse his wife, then Andra took the book and read "Bonnie Laddie, Highland Laddie" to him.

Meanwhile, Charlie thumbed through the table of contents of the book he held. "The Toadeater" looked like a funny one and so he turned to that page, only to go wide-eyed in horror upon reading it. Trying not to think about the times he and his bride had said _that word_ out loud, he blushed furiously and clapped the book shut.

"What's that one, then?" Elsie asked innocently, though she knew full well that Burns had written his share of ribaldry.

"Never mind," he muttered, finding another poem. "Oh, Mrs Hughes, this one looks quite nice. 'Up in the Morning Early.'" He laughed softly, "_That'll_ bring back memories."

She smiled at both his use of her name and the way he so freely referred to the difficulty of a life in service.

"Aye, that it will."

He started to read it cold, but everyone soon groaned at his pronunciation. His wife, deciding that touching his lips would be unwise at the moment, stopped him with her hand on his.

They read through it together. At the final stanza, Andra stifled a yawn, but Jack caught it anyway. She looked at him and they both nodded; neither Elsie nor Charlie noticed their exchange.

"Och but that talk of winter air does make me long for my warm bed. I think I'll say goodnight, my dears."

"I think I will too," said Jack. "Goodnight Charlie, Elsie."

Surprised at their hasty departure, Elsie rose to kiss both of them goodnight. "Goodnight, Andra. Goodnight, Jack, sleep well."

Charlie called quietly, "Goodnight."

And just like that, they were gone.

There was a pause before she spoke.

"Well."

"That was...er..." he hesitated.

"Sudden."

"Yes." He furrowed his brow; he'd found something that might prove even more intriguing. "Would you read this one for me?" He held the book out to her and she sat again.

"Oh my, but that _is_ a chilly one."

"Indeett," he agreed, a smile in his voice.

She nestled in close and he put his arm around her. He leaned in, his cheek against her hair. His heart pounded — her _hair_ that he'd so carefully patted dry, ridding her of telltale drops of water from the shower. He tensed slightly at the memory, breathing her in as she began:

"_When biting Boreas, fell and dour,  
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;  
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,  
Far south the lift,  
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r,  
Or whirling drift…"_

He gasped at the way she she said "whirling drift." She paused, looking up at him.

"Shall I continue?"

"Oh, er, ahem, yes, please."

She turned back to the poem, her smile tiny and wicked.

* * *

**a/n**

Okay, there's a lot of research that went into this one, so I'll share it with ye. Please see my post on tumblr for links.

— Pease porridge and stewed tea, dafuq are you talking about, Dee? That's back in chapters 121-122.

— Wait, they said naughty words out loud to each other? That little adventure starts in chapter 89 and goes on for a few chapters. NSFW. So vulgar and so tender. Mmmmm.

— knapdarlach is like a dingleberry — a bit of PEWP that hangs in the fluffy pantaloon-fur of an animal. GROSS, ELSIE!

**Google: bbc burns poetry** to read the poems and hear readings (including Phyllis!). It seems that in order to hear the recordings, you need to either (1) be in the UK or (2) fire up your proxy. I recommend Hola for Chrome.

Poems:

— Charlie reads "To a Mouse" with Elsie's help. (Phyllis recited the first two lines of this in the SAG trophy room after they won Best Ensemble 2015. I imagine Elsie having a bit less drama in her reading but still being delightful.)

— Elsie reads "The Braw Wooer" (Phyllis reads this on the BBC site!)

— Jack reads "Anna thy Charms" but changes the name to Andra. Sacrilege! :-)

— Andra reads "Bon(n)ie Laddie, Highland Laddie"

— Charles and Elsie read "Up in the Morning Early" and at the end, Elsie starts to read "A Winter Night**" **(Phyllis reads this on the BBC site!)

— … aaaand Charles finds "The Toadeater" and _does not_ read it aloud. Here it is in its entirety (source is the BBC online collection, again):

_The Toadeater__  
No more of your titled acquaintances boast,  
Nor of the gay groups you have seen;  
A crab louse is but a crab louse at last,  
Tho' stack to the cunt of a Queen._

(Dee's barely-translated translation: "quit bragging about your high-up friends or the great parties you've been to. A crab louse is no more than a crab louse even if it's stuck to a Queen's vajayjay") _BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA IT'S SO VULGAR I LOVE IT_

* * *

_**please leave me a review if you have a moment; I love them! xoxox**_


	205. Chapter 205

**a/n oh you all are so lovely. It's nice to know some of you are still with me, even though this has become so sporadic! Thank you to all who read and review, and like and reblog and follow and favorite. It means a lot to me!**

**Thank you kouw for being my wonderful beta!**

**Thus concludes the Burns portion of Burns night.**

* * *

"_When biting Boreas, fell and dour,  
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;  
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,  
Far south the lift,  
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r,  
Or whirling drift…"_

He gasped at the way she she said "whirling drift." She paused, looking up at him.

"Shall I continue?"

"Oh, er, ahem, yes, please."

She turned back to the poem, her smile tiny and wicked.

* * *

By the time she finished reading, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, unknowingly alternating between holding his breath and sighing.

"Charlie? Are you alright? Surely my reading hasn't given you a headache?"

He shook his head with a little helpless breath of laughter, then breathed in deeply, rapidly. He turned to look at her.

Adrenaline shot through her at the desperate look in his eyes. She breathed a short little laugh, her heart pounding as a bold idea began to form in her mind. But, she decided, that idea could wait; she had other things to think about just now.

"You did so well tonight, Charlie."

He blinked. "I did? Er, thank you. I found it quite enjoyable indeed."

"Did you?" With her eyes on her hand, she fussed with something on her skirt — a loose thread maybe.

"Yes, of course." He took a sip of his cold tea — and scowled at the bitterness.

"It was courageous of you," she told him, and he looked up at her. Whatever he might have expected her to say, it wasn't _that_.

"What do you mean"

"I think you know." She paused, then looked up at him, "Don't you?"

"I mean, I suppose so," he began. "It's strange…"

She hummed, occupied once more with the offending thread. He watched her fingers move for a moment, unsure whether her response was just a response, or a question.

"Andra was —"

"Andra was making fun of you." She pulled away from him as she said it, and the sharpness of her voice surprised him.

"No she wasn't, she —"

"You were giving us such a treat, reading in that wonderful voice of yours, and in _Scots_, no less, and she said it was —" Unable to continue without raising her voice, she gave an exasperated huff.

With his arm around her, he pulled her close again. Her body was tense against his as he kissed her cheek and spoke softly.

"It may come as a shock to you, but I wasn't offended."

She seemed to relax then, a bit.

"What's brought this on, love?" he wanted to know.

"I — I don't know how to say it, Charlie."

"Hmmm?"

"The reading, the accent — it's all so _bold _of you, so _lovely_. And I don't want anyone else to hear it and disparage it."

"Are you jealous?" His voice had just a touch of amusement. "My Mrs Hughes, jealous?"

"No — no, it's not that." She shook her head, pulling away this time to look at him, really look at him.

_Amazing. He really __isn't_ _hurt_, she thought, searching his face and starting to believe him.

"Are you sure?" His tone grew more playful with every word, and she shook her head again.

She bit her lip, searching for the words.

"Not jealous, Mr Carson... _protective_, I think."

His mouth was a little _O_ of surprise.

"I don't want them ridiculing you," she said forcefully, and he broke into a grin, wrapping both arms around her.

"Oh, Mrs Hughes, I can assure you," he said into her hair, "I've heard _much_ worse. _And_ I think Andra was just teasing. Much like her sister, I might add."

"Ah, but it's different when _I_ do it." _Finally_, he thought, hearing her smile again.

"Oh?" He loosened his hold on her and she leaned back to look up at him.

He leaned in, she reached up, and they kissed, light and sweet. Before it could go further, she pushed gently on his chest.

"There is one more thing I'd like to hear, if you don't mind," she whispered, their foreheads touching.

"Is there?" His voice rumbled through her and she bit her lip, willing herself to keep from kissing him hard, pushing him backward on the settee and taking him right then and there.

"There is." He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of her rolled _r_.

She forced herself to lean away in order to retrieve the book. Paging through, she found the poem she wanted and handed it to him.

He read the title aloud: "'Thine am I, my Chloris Fair.'" Then he skimmed the text and looked up at her, waiting for her to read him the first few lines.

She shook her head.

"No, I'd like you to read it in your own voice."

He smiled at her, understanding why, and began to read. She leaned against him and closed her eyes, letting his voice wash over her.

When he was finished, she got up to extinguish the lamps, but turned to watch him for a moment. His brow furrowed as he stared closely at the page.

"Let's go, Mr Carson," she said, her voice low and sweet.

He gave a start and his expression lost that concentration, his eyebrows flying up as he raised his head to look at her. He still held the book in both hands; he'd been trying to puzzle through something about "The Daddie O't."

It was just the two of them and the warmth of the glowing embers in the fireplace. Soft light played over the contours of his face as she approached him.

She placed her warm hands over his. He lowered the book and looked up at her to see her gentle smile — the quirked corner of her mouth looking mischievous, and he knew why. They would climb the stairs together, brush their teeth, and make love on a quiet, soft bed, then sleep until morning, wrapped up in one another.

He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers, then stood, holding her hand, leaning down his other hand came up, his thumb resting at her cheekbone, fingers curving gently, sliding into her hair. She rose up to meet his kiss, giving him a high, short, quiet moan as she swayed toward him.

Too soon, he pulled away, and still holding her hand, he started to head for the stairs. She hung back, tugging at his hand.

"Wait."

He turned, eyebrows high.

"What is it?" He asked gently.

"Well, I —" she ducked her chin, a silent giggle. "I never thought I would say this, _ever_ —" his eyes went wide and he frowned slightly, wondering where on _earth_ she could be going with this but she continued, "...let alone to you, I mean, er , _before_ — and let _alone_ at my age, but—" she looked up at him.

"Yes?" He was almost worried.

"Charlie, will you..." She bit her lip, inhaling, gathering her courage.

He watched her, unable to speak or even move as his heart began to pound in his chest. He didn't know where she was headed, but it seemed as though it must be something awful. His breath caught as she finally managed to ask him:

"Will you go out to the barn with me?"

* * *

**...** **hey luv, how you doin?**


	206. Chapter 206

**oh me oh my, it's getting spicy again... you all are so lovely; thank you so much for all the reviews on 205! i'm glad this popcorn string hasn't gotten _entirely_ boring. :D :D :D**

**thank you kouw for being my fabulous beta! **

**I hope you all enjoy this! xo**

* * *

"Well, I —" she ducked her chin, a silent giggle. "I never thought I would say this, _ever_ —" his eyes went wide and he frowned slightly, wondering where on _earth_ she could be going with this but she continued, "...let alone to you, I mean, er , _before_ — and let _alone_ at my age, but—" she looked up at him.

"Yes?" He was almost worried.

"Will you go out to the barn with me?"

* * *

She was looking up at him, her chin still low, biting her lips together. Eyebrows up and laughing eyes and to him she looked both tentative (_please accept this please let's be like this let's live a little_) and ... and _impish._

He could see the mischievous young girl she must been. Her expression made him laugh — later she would tease him that his jaw dropped — and for half a second (less, really) she feared his rejection.

It took all of his restraint not to kiss her right there — and then he realized there was no reason not to do so. He stepped toward her, pulling her close and whispering "yes, let's" before he kissed her, then released her and they stood laughing, incredulous at their own silliness.

"Come on, then," she whispered.

Suddenly his mind flew to the discomforts of straw and hay and the risk of discovery.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"But the bed is — "

"Och that stupid bed. Why do you think I want to drag you out to the barn?"

She turned away from him to put on her coat. Remembering his manners, he started to help her on with it when it was already too late. She was tugging the collar into place and all he could have done to help at this point would have been to do up the buttons for her — so his hands hovered uselessly, vaguely near her shoulders.

"But it's —"

"Shhhh, your voice is going to boom all over the house and wake everyone up. Now put your coat on, please, before I put it on you myself." She took it off its hook and thrust it into his hands.

"I doubt that," he scoffed, barely registering the coat in his hands. He'd barely spoken above a whisper himself. Besides, it seemed they were heavy sleepers, or at least Jack had told him so.

"I'm tired of being quiet," she told him matter-of-factly, ignoring his reply.

There was something else in her tone: she actually sounded _annoyed _— not at him, but at the circumstances — and it struck him as funny with the words and the tone so at odds with each other. Seduction and irritation all at once. His mind flitted back to the way he used to perform — on stage _and_ as the butler; both required saying things without saying them.

For an instant he found himself wondering whether the parents of young children ever acted this way. Sneaking around when they weren't doing anything wrong_. _Well. Certainly not _wrong_, but perhaps _improper_ —

She stopped her movements, staring at him. _Why is he just standing there grinning?_

"Mr Carson, if you don't come with me right now, I'm going alone."

His eyebrows shot upward at the implications, at what she might do alone, and she saw it.

"Oh, _come on, _you know what I mean!"

"Do I?" He was already buttoning his coat but he looked up, cocking an eyebrow and grinning at her.

"Och! _You're_ the incorrigible one, Charlie." She opened the door for them and he hurried to follow her.

For just a moment, they stood on the step and stared at the farm in cold silver moonlight. He thought that on another night he might stand behind her with his arms around her, her hands over his, and his chin on her head. He smiled at the idea of such closeness through the layered clothing of winter.

But they had even better things to do at the moment. She pulled at his hand again and they were off. Her steps quickened but he easily kept pace with her.

With keys jingling on a large ring he didn't even know she'd taken, she opened the door and pulled him into the dark warmth of the barn.

* * *

...

**goooooooobeerrrrrs**. **why is his mind wandering like that? I don't even know. what a dork. **_(am i referring to myself or to charlie? science may never know!)_

**I would love to know what you think of this, darlings! Please drop me a line if you've got a moment! thaaaanks.**


	207. Chapter 207

**a/n jeeez, sorry this has taken so long. as ****kouw**** and ****doc-chatelaines**** can attest (thanks, you two, SO much, thank you ****kouw**** for making me finally realize that Elsie's initial deliberations were so off the mark!), this chapter has had ****_many, many_**** false starts. smutty deliberations ****_alllll_**** over the place. like i wrote ten chapters at once and none of them fit together. the plus side is that those things can still be sold for parts to other chapters (insert skeezy grin here). YAY.**

**thank you so much to all who review, including you lovely guest reviewers to whom i can't respond individually. i'm so glad you're still with me!**

**and now, the goobers being goobers...**

* * *

_With keys jingling on a large ring he didn't even know she'd taken, she opened the door and pulled him into the dark warmth of the barn._

* * *

Darkness, warmth, the scent of hay.

And her. Her hand small and strong in his, then one hand landing lightly on his shoulder, floating up to find his face in the dark. Her thumb on his lower lip, and she pulled him down to her, rising up on her toes.

His arms were full of her; the scent of her soap, of her hair, of her _skin_ was all around him. He pulled her close and she smiled into their kiss, her hands playing in his hair. When they paused he pulled back, only to nuzzle the crook of her neck, letting his face rest there as he simply held her close.

She held on tight too, murmuring her love and desire to him. When he started kissing her neck, she soon found herself incapable of forming sentences.

"Mmm, oh yes that's...yes," and she arched her back just a touch, pressing into him that little bit more.

His deep moan rumbled through her, and with a soft laugh and a great effort she drew away from him. One more little kiss and then she was pushing lightly on his chest. He loosened his hold and she slipped away.

A moment of confusion, and he heard an almost-stumble — then the flare of a match and the lantern was lit.

"Oh..." He exhaled — half relief, half recognition. The low ceiling he'd been half-aware of in the darkness, the hay, the lantern, the bench — "Isn't this the same building?"

"It is. Where we... talked."

"Yes."

"Mm-hmm, I thought we could be cozy here." He could hear her gentle smile; she was already walking away.

Then she was busy in the corner, in some kind of stall, and as he approached he saw that she was letting a saddle blanket billow out over a flat plane of hay bales.

"Mrs Hughes, I'm impressed."

"Good," she laughed, "because I wish we were in bed at home!"

"Alas. But I am impressed," he insisted. "Thinking of this place for us to..." He cleared his throat. "My lovely bride always has been a resourceful woman."

"You make it sound like I've been sneaking out to barns all my life, Mr Carson." He didn't immediately hear the smile mingled with her disapproving tone and he stumbled through an explanation as she laid down the second blanket.

"No, I mean, you were always able to find room for unexpected guests at the Abbey, and you handled everything so well..."

He trailed off. She was unfurling the last blanket and laughing quietly at the same time, shaking her head, wrinkling her nose. Then she looked up at him, flushed, with smiling eyes.

He was leaning against the doorframe, mussed hair, coat undone — and the top button open on his shirt looked terribly inviting.

She held her hands out to him.

"Come here, my man."

And in shadows and soft lantern light, she sat him down on the hay and stood between his knees.

His hands came to her hips and she touched his upturned face, kissed him as she ran her hands over his neck and shoulders. She opened a button on his shirt. Another. A third, and as more buttons gave way and he began to look rather undone, she swayed closer to him. Her body slid in between his thighs and she delighted in his moan.

Too warm, they slipped out of their coats. His lay around him on the blankets but hers she folded up.

"But — it will wrinkle —"

"Shhh," and her fingers rested on his lips only a second before he opened his mouth to take them in. She gasped; he grinned, his teeth gently holding her in place.

"Charlie," she breathed as he gently sucked her fingers. Her knees were going weak. Then his hands were at her buttons, his mouth at her collarbone, kissing down her chest as he unwrapped her, exposing the lace of her brassiere and the satin of her skin. When his hands reached her waist he paused, admiring his handiwork. His woman, strong and flushed, breathing fast, her hands resting limp on his shoulders. She looked half undone; she looked delicious. He couldn't wait to taste her — good god, to _hear_ her again.

Her hands over his, stopping him: if she was going to do this, she figured she would need _some_ measure of self-control.

He watched her, confused. He thought she was going to sit on his lap, but now she was getting down onto her knees, her coat under her. And just before his mind realized _why_ she would be moving in that direction, his baffled sense of chivalry dictated that he must give her his coat as well, or instead, _something_ and he tried to get up to retrieve his coat for her and nearly knocked her over in the process.

"What are you — Mr Carson, sit _down_!"

"But your coat, I should give you mine, to —"

Mid-sentence he realized what she was going to _do_ down there.

"...to — wait, are you…? You don't have to — are you going to —"

"Shhhh."

He'd half sat down again, but remembered his coat at the last second and managed to get it out from under him, fold it, and give it to her.

He had been so very aroused; now he was mostly just embarrassed. She knelt between his legs, her hands warm on his thighs. Tilting her head to one side, she looked up at him kindly.

"Are you alright?" Her soft voice soothed him.

He looked at her. Took a deep breath.

"I... No.. .."

"Oh, my love." And she rose to sit next to him, shaking her head when he made to reach for the coats. She took his hand in hers.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" she asked between kisses to his hand, wrist, fingertips.

"You don't have to... er, do _that_."

"Mmm, but I want to."

"You do?"

"Oh yes. I have for a long time."

"Have you?"

"Mm-hmm," and she drew him down to kiss him, soft and lingering, then leaned her forehead against his

"Don't you want me to do it?" There was real doubt in her question.

"My god, yes," he gasped, then was instantly embarrassed at his own candor.

"Well then," she began, leaning into him, kissing his neck as she began to move her hand from his shoulder down his chest — and then she slid her hand between his legs.

His breath caught in his throat when she made contact; she gave a happy little hum in response.

Then she slowly ran her palm up and down, feeling the thick, hard heft of him through his trousers, moaning low and quiet with the pleasure of touching him this way.

"I want to touch you," she breathed. "I want to have you in my mouth."

He exhaled rapidly, _Christ_, already her _hand_ on him was making him shake — then managed a few words:

"God, please, yes — if you're sure —"

"Yes. I want to feel you in my mouth, and I don't want to be interrupted again..."

She was kissing him where she could reach — his neck, his shoulder, peeling back his shirt and undershirt to reveal more skin — and her hand between his legs continued its slow, soft torment.

"Are you alright now?" Her voice was soft and low and luscious in his ear.

He nodded.

"May I?"

"Yes," he was gasping as she slowed her movements, stopped, started again, so slowly, "yes, _please_ —"

She took her hand away. He gasped, _cold_ — and replaced her hand with his own, resting it over himself.

"Ooh," she cooed when she saw it, one eyebrow raised at him. Embarrassed, he started to take his hand away but she stopped him, pressing her own hand lightly over his.

"Don't worry, love, I completely understand.". And she shifted, standing with a question in her eyes. He nodded, looking desperate, hungry, pleading —

And she settled down between his knees again. She took his hand, kissed it, and laid it down next to him. Then her sure fingers undid his flies, gently freed his erection from his shorts, and with a contented moan, she finally took him into her mouth.

She wrapped her lips around him, swirled her tongue against him once. His body rocking forward, he had to catch himself on her shoulder, just a little. His hand squeezed her shoulder and then floated above it clenching the air. Then it fell flat against their makeshift mattress, fingers curling, pressing into the blankets, grasping the hay underneath.

* * *

**_tbc..._**

**_how you doin, bbe?_**


	208. Chapter 208

**_NSFW, of course. Big thanks to kouw and doc!_**

* * *

_And she settled down between his knees again. She took his hand, kissed it, and laid it down next to him. Then her sure fingers undid his flies, gently freed his erection from his shorts, and with a contented moan, she finally took him into her mouth._

_She wrapped her lips around him, swirled her tongue against him once. His body rocking forward, he had to catch himself on her shoulder, just a little. His hand squeezed her shoulder and then floated above it, clenching the air. Then it fell flat against their makeshift mattress, fingers curling, pressing into the blankets, grasping the hay underneath._

* * *

He couldn't quite believe this was happening. Couldn't quite believe his _luck_, more like. She was right there. Her body between his legs, her mouth on him, her tongue doing god only knew what to him. He sat stiffly, his hands gripping the blankets, and tried to remember how to breathe.

She'd never done this before. She'd barely even had her hands on him. Twice she'd started to put her mouth on him and been interrupted. But those were nothing compared to this, kneeling between his legs, touching him the way she'd wanted to since seeing him that afternoon, just in from the rain.

… _Well_. Since long before that, really, but the sight of him then had made her impatient. And then there was the shower… A thrill ran through her at the memory and her eyes slid closed, her hands tensing on his thighs.

She tried to do what she knew he liked. Only, now she had him in her mouth instead of between her legs and as such she felt both more dexterous and less experienced.

She'd already known his skin there was smooth, but she hadn't imagined how deliciously silky it would feel against her lips, her tongue. She hummed with pleasure, not anticipating that the vibrations of her voice would draw a choked moan from his throat. It made her smile around him.

Every little movement drew a response from him. She stroked her fingers up and down his length with his tip in her mouth; his breath hovered and shook at the top of an inhalation. She took him out of her mouth and smoothed her thumb over the tip; he could barely control the way his hips jerked forward.

She did it again, finding a place just below the head that he seemed to like. Stroking her thumb over it, she looked up at him. His brow was furrowed, his mouth a bit open, fists clenching in the blankets. He was holding his breath, she realized.

She let go of him for a moment, removing her touch entirely just to see what would happen. He exhaled in a rush, a marionette with dropped strings. Another frantic half-inhalation, and then his desperate whisper —

_"But _— _no, why — don't stop, no no —" _He stared at her, wild-eyed and pleading, and she looked back, all soft eyes and wonder. His protest was soon swallowed up in a shaking moan when she touched him again with her fingertips. Watching him curiously, she bit her lip, lightly wrapping her hand around him and stroking up and down — and she smiled when his eyes slammed shut.

Being with him like this was overwhelming to her. She'd known he would be hard, his skin hot — that, she'd felt inside her many times. She loved that, adored it. But this… there was something so intimate about it, so vulnerable.

It was _him_. Just him, with nowhere to hide.

His body, his crumbled restraint, his undisguised need. She'd never felt this tender power before. Never felt the trust of another person this way.

She thought she might be starting to understand what it had been like for him when he'd wanted to "kiss" her there_._ He'd wanted to love her like this. Wanted to feel this close, to give her pleasure — and she'd run away.

_Och, to long for this and then be rejected..._ She could have wept while kneeling there. Instead she put that intensity of feeling into finding out what he liked, learning how to make love to him with mouth and hands.

She took him into her mouth again, her hand around his shaft, squeezing experimentally, listening and feeling for his responses.

She moaned again and he sucked air in through his teeth, feeling blindly for her other hand. His intent was simply to hold it, but as soon as she felt his hand on the back of hers, she moved their hands together to wrap around him. When he made contact he gave a bit of a start, pulling away. She leaned back on her heels, letting him slip out of her mouth, and smiled at him.

"Do you like this?"

"You," he panted, "you _sorceress_…"

"Only for you," she breathed.

* * *

**_tbc_...**


	209. Chapter 209

**_Heyyy! So, I just posted 208, and just for funsies here's 209! whee. SO. go back and read 208 before you read this, hmmm? It'll be worth going back, I promise._**

**many thanks to kouw and doc! and many thanks for the reviews! xoxox**

**NSFW!**

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**_._**

**_._**

* * *

_She moaned again and he sucked air in through his teeth, feeling blindly for her other hand. His intent was simply to hold it, but as soon as she felt his hand on the back of hers, she moved their hands together to wrap around him. When he made contact he gave a bit of a start, pulling away. She leaned back on her heels, letting him slip out of her mouth, and smiled at him._

"_Do you like this?"_

"_You," he panted, "you _sorceress…"

"_Only for you," she breathed._

* * *

He was shaking and wanting and hoping she would take him into her again. Like this or between her legs, she could climb on top of him; she could do whatever the hell she wanted to him. He was prepared to beg; he hoped she would _please_ just —

She kissed the tip of him, opening her mouth to take him in. A second later she released him again, her hand moving up and down, thumb playing over that place just beneath the tip.

"Charles…"

Her voice was like rough silk. Low, seductive as he'd never quite heard it before. Unwilling to stop touching him even to speak, she kissed and teased him, her lips and tongue brushing against his tip while her hand stroked up and down. She loved his response — shaking breath, tensing body, deep moans.

"Charlie… Do you have any idea how much I love this?"

His response was a breathless half-question, a "_do y-"_ that made her smile, and when she took him into her mouth and moaned again, he choked out her name.

His breathing was becoming erratic. When she took him in a bit deeper and moved a little faster, he had to force himself to stay still. He would not allow his hips to jerk forward, he would _not_ thrust up into her mouth, would _not_ let his hand land heavy on her head, he would _not push her_. She tormented him, sweetly, _good god, this woman, where did she come from_ —

He dared look down at her. The sight of her head bobbing up and down almost pushed him right over the edge and he closed his eyes again, his hand just touching her shoulder.

She hummed a question, not stopping her movements.

"Elsie, I — I'm going to — "

He was trying to warn her but she seemed unconcerned. She took him out of her mouth and talked to him; he could barely make it out through the blur of sensation — her hand running over him, thumb sliding over his tip. Everything was slippery from her hot wet mouth, but he was worried; then she was speaking again, whispering against him —

"Yes, I want you to come for me like this, I want you to let go and come for me —"

And then — _oh_ _god_ — she took him in again. Her tongue swirling, lips caressing, hand sliding up and down. He couldn't help but thrust just a little, but she managed to move with him — and then he was moaning, gasping, coming undone to her soft, merciless touch. He spilled himself inside her mouth, the idea of it so _illicit_ but she was letting him, encouraging him with those incredible moans of hers.

She took it in with just a slight gag that unsettled him (and thrilled him in some forbidden way that he wasn't prepared to consider). Honestly, she'd expected it to be worse. She held it in her mouth, thinking what to do next. Had it been possible, she might have bitten her lip.

He was overcome; it was by far the most loving and generous thing anyone had ever done for him. He thought he might actually cry, but then she was squeezing his hand, stroking his thigh, and releasing him. She gave him a sweet smile with her mouth still closed, stroked his face, ran her thumb over his lower lip, and then …then she was _gone._

His hands reached vaguely for her as she left, then he sat there alone, his hands clasped between his knees.

She didn't want to spit it out right in front of him; that seemed cruel somehow. Normally quite the planner, she hadn't thought of this and now she stood wondering where to get rid of it. In the end, it went into the hay in the corner of a stall.

He winced as he realized what she was doing. It wasn't her spitting it out that bothered him, exactly. It was the lingering fear that he'd defiled her, upset her, and now she had _left_ to spit it out and he couldn't figure out what she was thinking.

He was doing up his trousers again, feeling ridiculous, when she reappeared in the doorway. He looked miserable.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, my love." His nervous laugh gave him away and she hurried to sit next to him. He turned away, shaking his head.

"I'm sorr—" he began, but his voice broke. He stared at his feet.

"Oh, no, no… Charlie, I… I loved that." With her hand on his cheek, she gently turned him to face her. He finally looked at her with pleading eyes.

"Oh, my man," and she kissed his forehead, "you poor — Oh, love, I'm sorry I left you like that."

"I'm just… I… I'm sorry…" He wiped disgustedly at the tears that filled his eyes. _Embarrassing._

"Charlie," she said seriously, gently putting her hand on his thigh.

He resisted the urge to brush her hand away. Barely.

"Charlie, why are you sorry?"

Her cheek rested against his shoulder; suddenly their size difference made him feel like a brute. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. When he spoke he sounded disgusted.

"Because I… I did _that_."

She made a sound that was half-hum, half-giggle, then bit it back.

"Into your mouth," he continued weakly.

"Well, yes," and the smile in her voice was unmistakable. "But that's alright. I expected it." When he didn't respond, she went on: "I loved doing that for you, Charlie."

"But you spat it out," he blurted. Then, rapidly, trying desperately to make it right, "I mean, I wouldn't expect you to… you know… but I'm just — you went away. I was sure I had upset you, offended you… "

She looked at him, wide-eyed, blinked, and gave a soft little "oh" of laughter.

"Mr Carson," she began, then smiled, deciding not to correct the name. She took a second to wipe the corner of her mouth with her thumb (subtly, she hoped) before continuing: "I can assure you, the very _last_ thing in the world that I am at this moment is _offended._"

He shook his head, giving a little laugh.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in both of hers, letting their fingers slip in between one another.

"I loved it, Charlie." And she brought their hands to her lips, kissed them, and laid them in her lap. "And someday," she added, her voice musical again, "hmm, I think someday very soon, I'll tell you all about why."

Memories flashed up for him: their chair at home, her open thighs, new unknown garments of cream white lace. His words describing how it was for him to have his mouth on her.

He looked at her, questioning. She nodded, smiling, the promise of her words still in his ears.

She kissed his lips, drew him close to her for a quick, strong embrace and he finally, hesitantly, wrapped his arms around her. Then, coaxing him to lie down with her, she pulled a blanket over them. They curled toward each other and she held him close, his head against her bosom.

All he could manage was a shaky "Thank you."

Petting his head, she whispered, "You're welcome, love."

They lay wrapped together, warm and exhausted and marginally comfortable on their bed of hay and saddle blankets. Whispering increasingly nonsensical words of love to one another, they fell asleep.

* * *

**.**

**a/n**

**Is there an award for "Most Vulgar Use of Mrs Hughes's ****_'Not Offended' _****Line"? Because I'm really hoping to win it.**

**Please drop me a line if you have a moment! Many thanks!**


	210. Chapter 210

**Dear readers,**

**We ****interrupt your irregularly-scheduled NipS programming for an important message. I don't know if it will even be read by its intended audience, since this reviewer said they wouldn't be reading any more if it. But I needed to say this.**

**NipS 210 is below**.

* * *

To the guest reviewer who was Offended:

The whole story has been about them loving each other and discovering new, fulfilling, and loving ways to live their sexuality. It's about experimentation and freedom and enthusiastic consent. It has lately also been about family and inclusion and rootedness. If you don't like it, that is alright with me. No one has to read it if they don't like it.

Using the line about "I'm not offended" with Mrs Carson wiping her mouth was so absurd it made me laugh, so I put it in. Clearly it offended you. You have the right to be offended at that. I also have the right to keep writing this. You have the right to write me nasty reviews anonymously, just as I have the right to keep writing this story as I see fit.

I want to make another thing clear. What I write in this story is my work. Sometimes - often, even - there are ideas that I get from my beta (kouw) or, more recently, also from doc (chatelaine-s). But in the end, the written words you see are mine.

As for titillation, this whole story has been about being titillating. Especially the beginning with those short chapters. It's been great fun to write, and I do it with love for these characters and a sense of fun in creating tension. But even more, it's been about these characters opening up, being brave and loving with each other, and discovering a world of sexual expression that used to be firmly closed to them. So yes, it is rather pornographic, but that was the point.

So. If you don't like it, don't read it. I don't mind. I'm sorry to hear you were offended, but it won't change anything about my story.

* * *

**And now, back to those lovable goobers.**

**Chapter 210**

* * *

"Mmm."

"Hmm?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Ow —" She raised her head. "This hay is awful. Let's go back to that screeching bed."

"Ah — yes."

They stood, surveying the damage. The saddle blankets were clean and barely wrinkled. They'd been so tired they'd hardly moved during the hour or so they'd slept.

They worked together to fold up the blankets again, shaking and picking the hay from the bottom one.

He helped her on with her coat, brushed the hay off of it, then softly turned her in his arms to embrace her.

"Thank you, again," he whispered in her ear.

She leaned back to look up at him, touched his cheek with the back of her fingers, and smiled. Nodding, she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly.

She extinguished the lamp and they walked back hand in hand.

* * *

She held the keys tightly so they wouldn't jingle as she hung them up. They both removed their shoes and carried them in their hands as they padded upstairs.

* * *

She gave a sleepy, whispered "oh!" of surprise. He turned from hanging his shirt to face her, a growing smile on his lips. She was sitting in bed, nightgown on, blankets up over her legs.

"Yes?" He whispered.

"The bed, Charlie. Someone oiled it, or...?

"And tightened some screws, yes." His smile turned proud at her impressed look.

"That's wonderful, Charlie, thank you." she whispered, then shifted to lie down on her side, facing him.

The rustling of clothing would have drowned out her whisper, so she kept silent as she watched him change into pajamas.

When he rounded the bed, she turned, lifting blankets to let him lie next to her. He settled in, relishing the quiet give of their soft bed.

"Music to my ears," he whispered.

"What's that?" She was smiling.

"The bed. There's not a sound."

The wrinkle of her nose and the brightness of her smile complemented her _very_ quiet laugh as she reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, lifting a curl that immediately fell back into place on his forehead.

He wrapped her up in his arms and they sighed together, then both chuckled at the simultaneity.

She tucked her head under his chin, pressing a kiss to his pajama-clad chest. He gave her shoulder a squeeze in response.

Then he pulled away just slightly, dipping his head to kiss her forehead. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out how to put words to the emotion he felt.

"I've never felt so..."

She looked up at him curiously.

"...so surrounded, I suppose."

Her eyebrows shot up and she started to bite back a grin. He went wide-eyed, then backtracked as quickly as he could.

"I'm talking about family —"

"Ahhh."

"About being so accepted, somehow. When I was reading tonight, well, actually before I started reading, I was nervous."

She nodded, her hand on his chest flexing slightly.

"But then this thought crossed my mind —"

"Mm-hmm?" Her voice seemed to fill the room. It startled them both a bit and she was fully awake again.

"That this was family. That it's _real_ and that the bit of fun Andra had, you know —" (and he squeezed her shoulder) "— that that's all part of it."

"Aye, Charlie, that's family," she whispered. "We love you, and you're stuck with us."

He sighed happily, then managed a few more words while falling asleep.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, hmmmph..."

As tired as she was, she felt him fall asleep first, his hands loosing on her and his breathing evening out. His dear mumbled words sent a familiar warmth through her heart and she smiled, tucking her head under his chin again.

Duncan was due to arrive tomorrow, she remembered. Her eyes opened wide and she pressed her lips together, holding her breath for a moment before letting it all rush out. He tightened his arms around her then loosened his hold again, all in his sleep.

She shut her eyes tightly, sending a prayer heavenward that all would go well. _Family_, she thought, _indeed. Stuck with us._ She hoped he would still feel the same way about it tomorrow.

* * *

**a/n thank you for your support! I love hearing from you. Xoxox**


	211. Chapter 211

**Duncan is about to arrive. Who on earth is Duncan? He's Elsie's brother, a mere year younger. We've got more info about him in chapters 170 and 190 if you're interested.**

**Duncan is played by Peter Capaldi and his gentleman is played by Tom Wilkinson. See my tumblr post at deeedeeedeeedeee dot tumblr dot com for more deeetails.**

**Thank you all for your support. It means a lot to me. Xoxox. I'll be away with very limited intarweb access until Tuesday evening, alas. I hope you enjoy this chapter! MWAH**

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At breakfast, he thought she seemed slightly off. Tense, maybe, or distracted.

"Are you looking forward to seeing your brother?"

"Hmm? Oh! I was miles away, Mr Carson. What was it you said?"

"Why do you call Uncle Charlie 'Mister Carson'?" Betsy piped up.

"Did I — oh, I suppose I did," Elsie stumbled. "We used to — "

"And you called her Mrs Hughes when you were talking all scary," Betsy shouted excitedly to Charlie.

He stared at the little girl for a moment, both baffled and worried that he'd unintentionally frightened her. He couldn't think when it would have been: the little ones were already in bed before the Burns reading had started last night, and that was the only time he'd —

"Ahh!" (Lost in her thoughts again, she only vaguely took note of his realization.) "Yes, I did call her that, didn't I?" It had been his self-parody at the breakfast table several weeks earlier. "We worked together for a very long time, and that's what we used to call each other."

"Why?"

He smiled at Betsy. "Because we had to."

"Why?"

"Because it was proper." He was enjoying this little game. She started to ask another question, but her mother stopped her.

"Let Uncle Charlie eat, Betsy."

"Yes, Mama." She pouted anyway.

"We can talk more later," he promised her with a gentle smile, not wanting to undermine Moira in front of her child.

He turned smiling back to Elsie, but she was deep in conversation with Andra over Duncan's most recent letter.

"Oh, so they've been in Morocco this time," Andra was saying. "I envy him."

"Do you?" Charlie couldn't make out why Elsie would look so sad saying such a thing, but Andra's quiet response was even stranger.

"Well, no, of course not. Of _course_ not, Els. But you know what I mean."

"I suppose I do," she sighed.

* * *

Andra stopped drying the dish in her hands and turned to Elsie.

"Did you tell him?"

Elsie shook her head, biting her lip as she scrubbed harder at a stubborn bit of yolk on a plate.

"Els, what are you going to do when they get here?" she asked incredulously.

She sighed heavily, stopped scrubbing, and turned to look up at her sister.

"I don't know." Her voice was nearly a whisper.

Andra gently placed a hand on Elsie's shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but Elsie began instead.

"I've been trying to think of a way to talk about it with him. In the end I settled on the idea that it's not my story to tell. Not my secret. I couldn't tell without his permission; I just couldn't, not after all he's been through_,_ and it's not really something you can put in a letter, is it?"

Andra smiled sadly at that. "Hmm, no I suppose not."

"So here we are, with Charlie not knowing and them due any minute now."

"Does Duncan know you didn't tell him?"

"He doesn't know either way; we've not discussed it."

"So when they get here you can try to find a moment alone with them to ask about telling him."

"Maybe, yes. And then who knows what his reaction will be..." Elsie was scrubbing at the plate again.

"He managed it that one time..."

"True," she said to the plate in her hand, her eyebrows high and her lips pursed, "but not without a great deal of bluster."

"But in the years since? They've been alright, haven't they? I thought you said the man was even promoted."

"He was, but — " they both turned at the sound of a car approaching, then looked back at each other with matching expressions of mixed joy and trepidation.

"He was promoted, but apparently it wasn't at Charlie's suggestion. But all of that was when nothing had happened. This is — well, _you_ know."

Andra nodded, Elsie dried her hands, and they hurried out to welcome Duncan and his gentleman.

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Tbc...


	212. Chapter 212

**a/n i'm away on a trip but surprisingly enough, the wifi is ****_excellent_****. They fixed it! Last year it was non-functioning. So here I am, churning out more awkwardness for ye. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the reviews and support. MWAH. ya'll are the best.**

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Both women rushed out of the house with their aprons on. Their smiles were bitten back, their eyes full of the joy and pained anticipation of seeing one long missed.

Duncan was first out of the car.

"How's my wee sister and her great flock?" He smiled broadly, kissed Andra's cheek, and embraced her around the shoulders, Making eye contact with Elsie, he released Andra and crossed to his older sister.

"Elspeth Carson," he intoned, mock severity accentuated by his raised eyebrow and deep, slightly raspy tone.

"Duncan Hughes." Her voice shook a bit, mirth and tears fighting for dominance in their usual greeting whose only change was in the name by which he'd addressed her. "Have you been smoking again?"

"Never," and he broke character, grinned, and bent down to kiss her cheek and embrace her. They held on for a longer time than he had with Andra, him even lifting her up off her toes a bit. Over his shoulder, she could see Jack and Charlie returning from a walk around the grounds.

When he set her back down, she stood with her hand still on his arm. Her eyes darting back and forth between his, she whispered urgently.

_"I haven't told him yet about you and Nick yet. I'm sorry. I wanted to ask you first. I would've asked in a letter, but I didn't want to risk it —"_

Duncan held his breath for a moment, then let it out. He nodded and gave Elsie what was meant to be a reassuring smile. She understood the intent, but it made her no less nervous.

Within seconds his demeanor shifted entirely. His sparkling eyes turned colder, his smile faded, and his posture straightened. He visibly toned down the quick energy that animated his wiry form. He took a deep breath, glanced at the two men approaching, and nodded again.

"I'm sorry, Duncan —"

He shook his head. "Els, it's alright. You did right. We'll sort it out later; let me just tell Nick. I've got to get the bags anyway."

And giving her a sad little smile, Duncan got back into the car and closed the door.

* * *

Jack and Charlie had turned at the sound of the car entering the drive.

"Oh, that'll be Duncan and Nicholas."

Jack waved; Charlie automatically did so as well but then paused, frowning with an unspoken "_what?_" beginning to form on his lips. He hurried the few steps it took to catch up to Jack.

"Did you just call Mr Ward '_Nicholas'_?" His tone conveyed his confusion.

"Oh, well, yes, they've become quite good friends," Jack replied.

From about a hundred yards away, they watched the car pull up in front of the house. A tall, slim man with a full head of short grey hair hurried out, kissed and embraced Andra, then had some kind of amusing exchange with Elsie before they also kissed and embraced. Elsie was momentarily hidden from view behind the man who Charlie decided must be Duncan.

The man headed back to the car, surely just to remove his things so that Mr Ward could depart. It was a bit odd when he closed the door, but no matter. Charlie was very much looking forward to meeting the man who'd been Elsie's best friend and only sibling for over a decade.

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**_tbc_**


	213. Chapter 213

**Today's second update! woot. Thanks for the luv! xoxoxoxo**

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The first odd thing was that Duncan seemed to be unloading far too many bags for one person. Then Mr Ward was helping him.

Charlie would have expected to greet Mr Ward with a slight bow of the head and an offer to help carry the bags — if he'd expected to greet him at all. It was surprising that the man even got out of the car. Then he was shaking hands with Jack. He kissed Elsie and Andra on the cheek, which struck Charlie as terribly familiar, and then he said something that made Andra laugh. When Charlie looked at Jack, expecting anger or at least irritation at this man flirting with his wife, he saw no negative reaction.

He felt as though he'd stepped through the looking glass.

The issue of names was a bit confusing, and then the order of greeting was all off. One ought to greet Mr Ward first, but the man whom Charlie had been prepared to call "Duncan" approached him first. He seemed every bit the valet, and so when he offered his hand, Charlie was caught between two worlds. He didn't want to disrespect the man, so he deemed the professional mode safer than the familial.

"Mr Hughes," he began, but then continued with obvious sincerity, "I'm very glad to meet you."

Duncan raised an eyebrow; this man was a bit like Nick in some ways. Overly formal; _that_ was certain (perhaps even more so than Nick), tall and broad, with big hands. He was certain there must be great kindness underneath the facade; his sister wouldn't have married the bloke if there weren't something very special about him.

"Mr Carson," he replied with a reserved smile, "I'm glad to meet you as well."

They nodded at each other, both of them tight-lipped but trying. They dropped their hands when Mr Ward approached.

"Mr Carson," he greeted him with a smile in his voice as he extended his hand to Charlie. His voice was almost as smoky as Mr Hughes's, but the timbre was deeper. And the accent was full-on Yorkshire. _Leeds, maybe_, he thought as he shook the gentleman's hand.

Then Mr Ward was asking him to use his first name.

_Jack called him Nicholas, too,_ his mind told him. _He kissed Andra on the cheek_ _and it wasn't a problem._ _Almost as if he were her brother. _"Well, I would be honored. Nicholas it is, then. And I'm Charles." They shook on it.

Standing next to Andra, Elsie felt her clasped hands loosen slightly, the blood flowing back into her fingers. Andra put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

"We'll sort it, Els," she murmured.

Elsie inhaled deeply for the first time in several minutes, shook her head at herself, and smiled bravely up at Andra. She nodded.

"I hope so."

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**_tbc. thank you for your reviews. i'll respond, really, i will... xoxoxo_**


	214. Chapter 214

"So then you invented... a machine?"

"Well, it was more like a small part of a machine, one that enabled a great lot of other machines to work better. You see, it was —" Nicholas started to gesture, then even made to look around as if searching for paper and a pencil, but Andra stopped him as she sat down next to Charlie.

"Nicky, you know how I love your explanations, but maybe you could tell Charlie all about it _after_ dinner? Then you can do your technical drawings and everything."

Nicholas laughed a little. "Yes, of course, you're absolutely right. I beg your pardon."

He wasn't usually one for technological advances _or_ social change, and this man represented both. Elsie had told him previously that Duncan's employer was a wealthy man, and a self-made one at that. He'd vaguely expected a Richard Carlisle type: vulgar new money, scheming, arrogant, and cruel. This man seemed earnest, gentle, and convivial, none of which managed to make him seem undignified in the least.

Duncan was more reserved, which was understandable as he was dining with his employer. Still, he surprised Charlie a few times during dinner with his witty responses to a few things Nicholas had said.

Elsie sat across from Charlie with Duncan next to her and Nicholas at Duncan's other side, so he was able to get a good look at his wife and her brother at the same time. Duncan's eyes were lighter than Elsie's… _colder_, it seemed. Their expressions were similar: they would both tuck their chin if they were about to say something a bit saucy. Duncan's gestures were smaller than Elsie's, though, his movements more contained. He was fairly certain Duncan could produce an angry glare to rival Elsie's if provoked. He did not want to see it.

Duncan's hair curled like Elsie's, though of course it was cut much shorter and it was all grey and silver. By the time Charlie had figured out that their noses looked similar from the front and different from the side, Elsie stared back at him, questioning. He smiled, blinking fast and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry; I was just marveling at the family resemblance."

To Charlie's surprise, Duncan grinned; he actually _grinned_ at that. But he quickly let his expression fall back to neutral as he took a sip of the exquisite wine they'd brought with them from their travels.

Charlie suddenly thought of His Lordship and Mr Bates. Those two had been through war together and were fairly close as servants and employers went, but they had nothing like the friendship Duncan and Nicholas seemed to have. The class difference was far smaller, though; that might explain it.

There was something odd about both of them, though, something that Charlie couldn't quite place. A heaviness in Nicholas's movements, the predominantly low and even tone of his voice. There were glimmers of enthusiasm in his story of their latest journey, and he was certainly an intelligent man, judging by his inventions and good business sense. But something seemed off. Duncan's tone was muted too, for that matter, except in the occasional cheeky comment on Nicholas's story of their latest journey.

They weren't impolite, not in the least. Maybe they were merely tired from their long journey. But — no, they'd just been in meetings around Yorkshire for the past week. Nothing too exhausting.

It was as if both men were carrying some invisible burden, or maybe some great suffering still cast its shadow over them. Illness, perhaps? He kept relatively quiet during the rest of dinner, thinking and observing. They all went up early and by the time he and Elsie were getting ready for bed he thought he'd reached some measure of understanding.

They were terribly sad. Both of them. And he couldn't make out why.

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_tbc..._


	215. Chapter 215

After closing and locking the door behind them,, Duncan stepped into Nicholas's arms and they stood holding one another for several minutes. They were awfully relieved to have some privacy at last.

Standing at nearly the same height, they leaned their foreheads together. They sighed at the same time, each smiling sadly at that before sharing a quick kiss and then pulling apart, Nicholas's hand cupping Duncan's cheek. They spoke in whispers.

"I hate this kind of thing."

"I know." Nicholas brushed a thumb across his man's cheekbone. "I know. I do too. This place is supposed to be safe for us."

"She didn't tell him." Duncan's pain and disbelief were evident even though his words were barely audible. "Maybe she's ashamed, now she's got _him_ —"

"You know that's not true," Nicholas replied, pulling him close and combing his fingers through the short hair at the back of Duncan's neck. "She never has been. Remember how she fought for you?"

Duncan gave a quick little hum of laughter, pulled back, and looked up to meet his man's eyes.

"You still remember those stories after all these years, do you?" His brogue made it sound like "_do ye_."

"Of course I do," Nicholas whispered, tilting his face to the side, his brown eyes warm and loving.

"We'll get through this, won't we?"

"We will. Now come to bed, my dear man. If you're anywhere near as exhausted as I am after all that, you'll need every second of sleep you can manage."

It helped immensely to see that Jack and Andra had pushed the room's two narrow beds together and covered them with one large set of linens. It was the way they sometimes managed it in hotels — but only rarely, when the doors had good sturdy locks and they wouldn't make noise moving the furniture. More often, they would simply take one of the beds together.

The best was when adjoining rooms could be arranged. They double checked the locks and curtains every time. And they were always, always careful to make sure both beds looked slept in.

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_tbc..._


	216. Chapter 216

**a/n second update today. thanks for reading and reviewing! mwah.**

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She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, one arm slung over her head.

"Elsie," he whispered. He had just settled into bed, his body turned toward her.

She blinked rapidly and turned her head toward him.

They started speaking at the same time.

"Elsie, it seems like something is —"

"Charlie, I need to tell you —"

He nodded at her, listening.

She took a deep breath. She would not cry while telling him this. She would _not_. She refused to appear ashamed of her brother.

Years of work in service prepared her well to stifle her own tears.

She pursed her lips and took another deep breath, then sat up, hugging her knees. He propped himself up on one elbow, vaguely noting how young she looked in that position. _Girlish_, he thought admiringly, picturing her as a young lass growing up on this farm.

She leaned back against the pillows, clasping her hands around her knees instead. She stared unfocused at her hands as she began.

"When we were younger, _much _younger, Duncan — " she bit her lip before continuing. "Duncan got in a lot of fights."

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, listening.

"He —" This was all coming out strangely, like showing him snapshots out of sequence. "He wouldn't have done, not on his own, but the other boys at school, in the village, well..."

She turned to look at him.

"They were unkind to him." She closed her eyes, shook her head. "They were _so_ unkind."

"Why?"

"Well," she said slowly, "he isn't like most men. He never has been."

He was beginning to realize what it might be.

"You mean he's..."

She listened, waiting.

"He's a man of that sort."

She nodded. "They used to call him a —" she took a quick, deep breath through her nose, then said it all in an angry rush: "They called him a nancy boy."

"Oh." He flinched at the bitterness in her voice. His mind was racing — remembering the boys he used to taunt with the same epithet — and he tried to temper his alarm with empathy.

Alarm — that was certainly part of it. Alarm, surprise… The rest, well, he couldn't call it _disgust_ — not out loud and certainly not to her. After all, the man had clearly led such a miserable, lonely life.

She nodded. "It was a terrible time. I used to fight too, whenever a girl would poke fun at him."

He grinned at that image.

"He still lives in fear."

His grin fell away.

Then his speeding thoughts skidded to a halt on a moment several years ago.

He spoke slowly, hoping not to say the wrong thing. "That's why you said Thomas wasn't the first, er, man of that sort whom you'd met."

"Precisely." She took a deep breath; maybe this wasn't going as badly as she'd feared.

"But —" he was shaking his head, trying to puzzle this out. "But he's come so far in service."

"Yes." A little doubt grew in some corner of her mind as she felt him steering the conversation in this new direction. He hadn't quite got the whole story yet, she realized, and she feared what would happen when he did.

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_tbc..._


	217. Chapter 217

**a/n. I said from the get-go that it's a long journey and that it got a little complicated. So it's a little more complicated now. Maybe it feels unfocused to you. That's okay. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. If you unsubscribe, fine; I don't really need to know. **

**If you have an honest critique, feel free to send me a PM. If you're being nasty to try to make me stop writing this, you're wasting your time.**

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**Now back to NipS.**

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"He's even become a valet, something Thomas never managed to do."

"Yes," she managed, a slight nervous laugh escaping, "that he's done."

"Are you proud of him?"

"Yes," she said, quickly and more vehemently than he'd expected.

He gave a start because his next question felt so obvious he couldn't believe he hadn't posed it yet.

"Does Mr Ward know?"

Her heart was pounding as she bought time by correcting him.

"Nicholas."

Then they spoke over each other as he repeated the name and she said "And yes, he knows."

"Well, that's quite generous of him —"

"No," she was shaking her head as she whispered, "No, Charlie. No… That's not what I mean."

As one part of his mind was trying to figure out why she was being so damned cryptic about all this, the other part worried about how distressed she looked. He wasn't sure what the problem was. It seemed that although her brother was indeed twisted like Mr Barrow, he'd found some measure of satisfaction in a life of service.

Duncan seemed so terribly sad though.

_So does Nicholas_, his mind told him. Slowly he was beginning to see what was going on here, and it was troubling. It was very troubling indeed.

"Are you saying Mr Hughes —"

"Duncan, you must call him Duncan —"

"_Duncan_, fine. Are you saying they're lovers?"

She held her breath at the bluntness of the question, then decided the simplest response would be the best.

"Yes."

"Well. This is quite a shock." He sank back into the bed, lying on his back. He wouldn't look at her.

"I wasn't sure how to tell you," she whispered, brushing his hair off his forehead with gentle fingers.

He jerked away from her touch and she pulled back, fingers curling into her palm. A few moments of silence, then she couldn't take it anymore.

"Charlie — Charles, please talk to me."

"I'd rather not say anything right now. I would just be _unkind_ if I did."

And he turned away from her.

"Good night, Elsie. I love you."

"I love you too, Charlie." She started to reach down to smooth the covers over him, but remembered him recoiling from her touch just a moment ago and decided against it.

"Good night," was her choked whisper. She turned her back to him and tried to fall asleep.

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tbc.

many thanks for your support, to those who are still enjoying this strange popcorn.


	218. Chapter 218

It took ages for his snores to start, but when they did, she slipped out of the room. She'd never needed a light in this house, not even after decades spent away in Yorkshire.

Padding barefooted down the corridor, she headed for the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

In her haste to leave the room — she couldn't _breathe_ in there with him radiating disapproval — she'd neglected her dressing gown. She was already starting to feel the chill when a quiet, high-pitched voice called out.

"Auntie Elsie?"

She was twice startled, first by the sound and then by the ghostly sight of Betsy in a white nightgown, standing in the doorway of the girls' bedroom.

"Oh my lord, child," she gasped, sagging against the wall to catch her breath and pressing the heel of her hand against her breastbone. Then, with a mixture of sternness and gentleness, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I had a bad dream."

Elsie's heart was beginning to return to normal.

"Tell me a story?" Becky tugged on her hand.

"Shh, yes, but just — whisper, lass. Come on then."

She had intended to go back to bed in the room with Charlie, but in the end she was glad of Betsy's accidental intervention. They cuddled up together in Elsie's old bed and she told her a silly little improvised story about baby animals saying goodnight. Betsy fell asleep on Elsie's arm. Exhausted by the day's emotional upheaval, Elsie drifted off only minutes afterward.

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_tbc_


	219. Chapter 219

He looked at the clock and cursed. Half past four in the morning and he couldn't get back to sleep.

For all the absurd reasons he'd ever made up in his head for why she might abandon him this had never crossed his mind.

He tried to reason with himself. So she hadn't told him. That was unsurprising, he supposed. He knew she'd kept things from him in the past in order to smooth things along. For the running of the house, he'd needed to be aware of most things, but her discreet way of managing secrets was one of the reasons they'd worked so well together. He'd been very glad indeed that Mrs Hughes had waited several weeks before telling him about her real reasons for getting rid of Miss Braithwaite.

The bed empty next to him made him both angry and ashamed. He'd hurt her. Probably.

He wondered how long it had been going on.

_And she condones it._

He shook his head, disgusted. How much of that disgust was at himself, he wasn't prepared to consider. _He_ was angry with _her_ for leaving. For making him feel like he was in the wrong. He was the one in shock, surely. He was the one suffering here. Wasn't he? The one kept in the dark, then expected to accept whatever.. _abomination_ those two got up to.

His mind kept at it, bringing up images from the past. He remembered James's horror, his fear of guilt by association. His retaliation, the way he'd threatened to go to the police (for ages, it seemed, until by some miracle the lad had decided it all had gone far enough and relented.)

He turned over and turned back again, unable to find peace. Thomas Barrow's face (and attitude, that conniving bitterness the man always wore like proud armor) kept appearing in his mind.

_Duncan used to fight a lot. I wonder if he schemed and stole too._

Somewhere he knew that it was unjust to connect that with Duncan, but he couldn't help but wonder.

_And those trips around the world to do God only knows what to each other. Probably to little boys too. _He shuddered.

Deciding sleep was not going to come, he threw back the covers (violently — he knew it wouldn't trouble _her_ sleep since she didn't see fit to spend the night in the same bed as him). He would make a cup of tea and read something. Maybe he would write a bit in his journal, empty his head so he could sleep.

* * *

"Oof!"

She opened her eyes wide, awakened by a swift kick to the gut.

Betsy was quite an active sleeper.

After momentary confusion, she remembered telling Betsy a story to help her get back to sleep. Shaking her head and smiling, she managed to extract herself from the child's bed without waking her. She stood and pushed her hair out of her face. Then with a gasp that sucked the air from her lungs, she remembered. She'd told him. And then she'd left the room, oppressed by the silence that did nothing to hide his disgust.

There wasn't a clock in this room, but she could feel that it was very early. Since she was fully awake now and in need of some comfort, she decided to make that cup of tea after all.

* * *

He was so absorbed in his furious writing that he didn't notice her until she laid a hand on his shoulder. He nearly shouted, he was so startled. He slammed the book shut, knocking over his teacup, but it only spilled onto the saucer and the pot was safe.

Not intending to snoop, she still caught sight of a few of words he'd written. Very quickly she backed away, colliding into the countertop and bracing both hands on it behind her.

It was a raw, angry scrawl of untempered thoughts and emotions.

_"...harboring them. Practicing __sodomites__..."_

"_...Morocco. Young boys?"_

_"...dangerous… children in the house…"_

_"...police involved?"_

She stared at him, searching for words. _Nothing_. Her mouth opened once and closed again.

"I never meant for you to see that." He spoke low and quickly.

"But —" Her voice cut out. She stared at the book, then shifted to look him straight in the eye before whispering, "Those words, that's — that's really what you think, isn't it?"

"I —" he could not deny it, not to her. He never could lie to her.

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_tbc..._

_many thanks for your support! xoxox_


	220. Chapter 220

**A monster chapter (for NipS, that is), in which Elsie gets to shoot down (or at least shoot****_ at_****) some of the crap. I hope you enjoy it.**

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His voice caught in his throat and he looked down at the book held tightly in his hands. He shook his head and repeated quietly, "I _never_ meant for you to see that."

She inhaled slowly, then wrapped one arm around her waist and pressed the knuckles of her other hand against her mouth. Her gaze fell on his overturned teacup resting in the saucer — one last bit of steam rose from the tea as the ripples settled into an immaculate pond.

She shivered and rubbed the ball of one bare foot over the top of the other.

Her eyes widened as she saw the tea start to tremble: he was standing up. Her hands gripped the counter again; her whole body tensed.

Something strange was in her eyes as she focused on him.

_Fear,_ he realized. He froze, his hands falling from the knot on his dressing gown. There was a bit of a pause, then he gestured weakly.

"You seemed cold."

"What?" She shook her head, looking at him with an expression of baffled disbelief. Wide, questioning eyes, curled lip, furrowed brow.

"You — you shivered. I was going to give you my dressing gown."

She stared at him in silence for a moment, then made a sound that was something between a scoff and a sob. "_That's_ what you were thinking of? Well, thank you for that consideration. You want to send my brother to prison, but heaven forbid _I_ should catch a little chill."

"I —" he swallowed hard, "I don't want to send him to prison. Neither one of them."

Relief, and then anger at the stupidity of it. The tears she'd been fighting started to come and she blinked rapidly, pursing her lips and breathing in through her nose. Feeling exposed with her body reacting to the cold, she crossed her arms over her chest. The gesture helped, some. It made her feel smaller, yes, but more compact. More powerful, somehow. Steeling herself for his response, she looked him right in the eye.

_Say it, Els. Be brave. Now._

"But you still think they do things to little boys."

He had no response for that. He didn't _truly_ believe that, not really, he supposed. It was just… it was what men like that did, wasn't it? If they could, if they had the opportunity... Didn't they?

He just shook his head. She ignored it.

"Maybe you think those two like to do things to little girls too?"

He winced, shook his head again, and took a step back. She followed him. He stepped back once more and nearly collided with his chair. He held a hand out to steady himself on it, then sat down. She sat across from him, her eyes pinning him.

"Do you have _any_ idea how many times they've heard those horrible accusations?"

He just stared at her.

"Duncan and Nicholas are exactly as interested in doing things to children as _you_ are."

His mouth gaped; his voice shook in anger.

"I can't believe you would even suggest that."

"Yes. Well, now you've got a _wee_ little idea of what it's like for them, every single bloody day."

He gasped at the quiet, cutting force with which she spoke. For decades he'd worked alongside her. Countless times he'd seen her put insolent maids and footmen in their place. It was part of the job and she did it very well indeed, but she'd never been truly _angry_ with them, he now realized. Not like this. Beside the fact that he'd never heard the word "bloody" from her mouth, he'd never seen her so furious before.

_And hurt,_ his mind whispered. _She's very hurt and it's your fault_. He took a deep breath, shaking his head against those thoughts.

"Do you remember how Betsy and Glenna came into our room and woke us up?"

Images flew rapid-fire through his head. Curly hair, high little voices, warm snuggling bodies and those absurdly cold feet. Betsy introducing herself to her new "_Unco Chahdie._" Silliness, warmth, joy.

"Yes..." He wondered where she was going with this.

"They can never have that. They have to keep the bedroom door locked. Do you know why?"

He pressed his lips into a hard line.

"Because of what they might say."

He furrowed his brow — _what who might say to whom, what does she mean, what would those two say to the children _—

"In the village. Or to anyone. Imagine it: '_Uncle Dunkie sleeps in a bed with a man.' _Oh, and they can't call Nicholas 'Uncle Nicky' either, obviously. If any of them has a mind to call him that, you'd better believe they get a smack from their mother. They don't understand why, but none of the bairns has ever said it twice."

She paused to catch her breath, suddenly feeling very tired.

"And if anyone ever saw _that_," she added quietly, nodding toward the book under his hand, "they'd both be arrested."

They both started, hearing brisk footsteps, and Andra entered the kitchen.

"Oh! Good morning. I saw the lamp was lit; I thought it might be Moira."

They returned the greeting. His was a bit too bright and hers was weary.

Acutely aware of the tension in the room, Andra lit the stove and then looked back at them. Elsie's face was expressionless as she watched Charlie, and he was looking intently at his hands as he righted a teacup that had apparently spilled in its saucer. He fumbled it once; the clatter made him jump.

Elsie's eyes flicked up to Andra's. They held a silent conversation in the span of less than two seconds.

_You told him, then?_

_I did._

_And?_

_Awful._

_Oh Els, I'm so sorry. Tea?_

_Thank you, but it's just here._

Andra took a cup and saucer from the cupboard for herself. She moved slowly; it seemed as though something were about to shatter between those two. Charlie looked up at his sister-in-law with a forced smile and made to pour her some tea.

"I know I'm interrupting something —"

"Not at all," he tried to say, but she gently held up a hand.

"Thank you, Charlie, but there's no need for that here. I'm just trying to say, I'm sorry to interrupt but I've got to get a start on breakfast. The two of you can certainly stay in here, but I'm afraid you won't have much privacy."

"I'm sure that's alright," he intoned, his fingers curling around the edge of the book.

Elsie sighed. "Let me help you, Andra. I guess Charlie and I are done for now."

_Sisters_, he thought as he got up and silently exited the room, leaving the teacup still standing in its little pond. _Three_ _sisters, even, with Duncan being the way he is._ Somewhere he knew those thoughts were mean and small, but there they were.

_No wonder he didn't take the farm_, he thought with a satisfied little grimace. _Probably didn't have the stomach for it._

* * *

_tbc..._

_Many thanks for your reviews. They mean a lot to me. xox_


	221. Chapter 221

The day passed with very little change. She sat across from him at meals with Duncan next to her and Nicholas on Duncan's side. He spoke to them with forced politeness and at night she cuddled up with Betsy again, to the little girl's delight.

He kept waking up with his arm around her pillow, his nose buried in the scent of her hair. Every time, he frowned at himself and shoved the pillow away from him, back into place next to his. Then he turned toward the wall, wishing she would come back. The things she'd said about Duncan and Nicholas and the children kept echoing in his head.

* * *

"Auntie Elsie?"

She tried to recover quickly. She'd thought Betsy had fallen asleep after hearing the story again about the baby animals saying goodnight (with some embellishments).

"Yes, petal, what is it?"

She wiped her tears away. She had begun silently weeping as soon as Betsy's little body had relaxed in the crook of her arm. She'd been lying on her side, the tears soaking her pillow as she forced herself to lie completely still. One shaky, sniffling intake of breath and she was caught. And now little Betsy was asking her why she was crying.

"Och, don't you worry about it one wee bit. Your Auntie Elsie is just fine."

"But why are you crying?"

"Sometimes we just need to cry."

"Why?"

"Go back to sleep, Betsy," she said, more sharply than intended.

Betsy started to cry and Elsie was momentarily _very_ annoyed, then she sighed and gave Betsy a gentle squeeze and then a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, wee Betsy."

Betsy kept crying. For want of anything better to do, Elsie offered to tell her another story.

"Yes," Betsy whispered, and Elsie told her some little story about the rescue of a baby bird that had happened once at Downton.

When Betsy had fallen asleep, Elsie realized that the child had been a welcome distraction from the utter mess with Charlie.

Her tears started again, soft and quiet, and eventually she drifted off.

* * *

_tbc_


	222. Chapter 222

After lunch the next day, Elsie took him aside in the sitting room.

"I want you to go for a walk with them and Jack."

"I don't think that's wise," he said gruffly, then squared his shoulders and looked away. She shook her head, immediately recognizing his old tactic. She surprised him out of it by taking his hand and pulling him with her onto the stairs. She led him up to their room where they could speak uninterrupted.

Intuitively she felt she shouldn't shut them in. She crossed the room instead, but was surprised to see that he closed the door behind him, leaning heavily back against it.

She took a deep breath, looking at him warily. "They know that I told you."

For reasons he was not entirely prepared to acknowledge, he inhaled swiftly, adrenaline rushing through him. He was fairly certain he didn't want them to know that he knew about them. But he couldn't have articulated why.

He especially didn't want them to hear about what he'd written. He didn't even know what exactly she'd seen on the page, but he hoped _they_ knew nothing of it.

"Charlie."

His unfocused stare shifted back to her eyes. He saw her clearly. Small, strong, and protective — both of her brother and of him.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he blurted.

His question surprised both of them. She sank down onto the bed and they looked at each other for a moment.

She shook her head slowly, her gaze slipping to his shoulder.

"I don't know."

He held his breath, furrowing his brow. His eyes were questioning when she glanced back at him, biting her lip.

She continued quietly, "That is... I _do_ know why. It wasn't my secret to tell. That's one reason. And I was afraid of... " She gestured to the space between them, "This. The answer is simple. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing."

It seemed so unlike her.

He fought the urge to go to her, wrap his arms around her, and take it all back. But he couldn't. Not all of it.

Some of it, he thought he could take back. _Some_.

"I'm sorry about what I said."

She tilted her head to the side, wondering what the hell this would be about. _All of it? No. That's impossible._ She waited.

"About the children. About saying they would do things to little boys. Or girls."

"I didn't tell them what you said, you know," she said quickly. "Or what you wrote."

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and she went on, "So if that's why you're apologizing now —"

"No," he insisted.

"They know you're uncomfortable, but I didn't tell them more than that."

"Thank you."

A mean, little, wounded part of her wanted to sneer at him, to tell him she hadn't kept that secret for _his_ sake. She pressed her lips together and breathed in to calm herself before replying.

"Did you really think I would repeat that to my own _brother_?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

She looked away, shaking her head. "As if he hadn't heard it all a thousand times over," she muttered half to herself. Then, turning to him: "Anyway, I didn't tell him, but he certainly knows you don't approve. He hasn't made it this far in life without learning to read people."

That reminded him of something Thomas had once said to him about interpreting barely-communicated hints. He tried to respond without the disgust that the memory called forth in him.

"No, I suppose he hasn't."

* * *

_tbc..._


	223. Chapter 223

It just wasn't _right_. Was it? No. Surely not. Everything he'd been taught said that it was wrong, a sin, a crime. An assault on the natural order of things.

_Not to mention an assault on each other. That's what it is, isn't it?_

His shudder at the vague images in his mind could have been from the cold if not for the grimace that accompanied it.

"You alright, Charlie?"

He'd been startled and his eyebrows flew up. "Er, yes, of course." He quickened his pace to keep up with the three of them.

* * *

It had been several days of discomfort and a lonely bed. Twice she'd tried to get to sleep in there with him, but when he woke in the middle of the night and reached for her, she was gone.

One other time, she was there but she was crying and when he tried to wrap his arms around her, she just cried harder and pushed his hands away, scrambling to get out of bed and leave the room.

* * *

_The things she can get me to do_.

The walk had been intensely uncomfortable so far, with the four of them forced together like this. He wondered what Jack thought of this whole… _arrangement_. The walk together, the … _couple… _whom they all seemed to accept —

_Duncan's been here longer than you have, Charlie. He's family._

He scowled.

"What's troubling you, then?"

Duncan and Nicholas had gone on ahead; Jack looked at him expectantly.

"You don't want to know," he said bitterly.

"Well, then I'll guess. You've not been easy since the day after they arrived."

They leaned against a fence. Charlie kicked absently at the gravel for a second, and then the words tumbled from his mouth. "How do you stand it? Knowing they're like _that_." He looked at Jack, who was squinting at Duncan and Nicholas walking some distance ahead of them. Charlie looked at them too.

"I suppose I got used to it after a couple of years."

Charlie's thoughts raced. _A couple of years. Good god, how long has he been bringing men up here? He's gone far in service _— _lots of experience, different employers. Each with a reference, presumably; he must have kept his ways a secret _—

"And now, well, it's like Nicholas is family. Only, the poor man — well, both of them, really, they — och, just look at them."

He indicated the two of them up the road a ways, leaning against the fence with a carefully maintained space between them.

"Even here they're very careful."

Charlie just hummed low in response; this was making him quite uncomfortable.

"They can never show it. Andra and I can flirt like a right pair of fools without worrying about the bairns and their talk. You and Els too, now — and I'm glad to see her so happy after all these years."

A smile started to tease the corners of his mouth at the thought of his Elsie surrounded by family. He wondered if she'd talked about him and what she'd said.

"But those two, no." Jack nodded toward them. Duncan and Nicholas were talking, their hands in their coat pockets. They looked down at the ground, their feet scuffing at stones.

Charlie shook his head, seeing only what was there. Jack could see what was missing.

Not once did they lean in toward one another; not once did a smile light up the face of the one and inspire the same look of joy on the other's. When they locked eyes, one or the other was careful to look away before the gaze lingered too long.

Sometimes, on precious late nights in the sitting room, Nicholas would lay his hand palm up on Duncan's knee and their fingers would lace together. It had taken five years before they did that in front of Jack and Andra. The first time it had happened, Jack had felt Andra relax next to him as if something terribly important had finally fallen into place.

Jack gave himself a bit of a shake. He didn't fully understand the desire to be intimate with another man, but those two… he shook his head again.

"This is the only place they can even come close to getting comfortable, Charlie."

"I don't like the idea of them 'getting comfortable' at all."

Jack flinched and Charlie saw it. He didn't like offending Jack.

—_Or Elsie for that matter, you don't like hurting Elsie and here you go stomping all over everyone — _He clamped down on those thoughts and posed a question that had been bothering him.

"How long has he been bringing men up here?"

Jack scoffed at him, sounding almost angry.

"He's never brought "_men_" up here."

"I don't know what you mean."

"He's never brought '_men'_ up here because it's only ever been Nicholas. For thirty-some years now."

Jack abruptly ended the conversation by pushing off the fence with a terse "We'd best be getting on." Some of the things he'd said to Charlie just now, he'd never even told Andra.

* * *

_tbc._

_many thanks for your notes, including the guest reviewers to whom i can't respond directly. thank you so much. anon-luv is way better than anon-hate! :)_

_xoxox_


	224. Chapter 224

Charlie was still mulling over that comment of Jack's when they got to the barn.

_Thirty years. Only ever Nicholas. Thirty years. Thirty years of service _— He pushed away the thought of Elsie Hughes, Head Housemaid. If he'd had the courage to declare himself thirty years ago, things might have been very different. If it weren't for for Alice Neal, that is.

_Yes, but if it weren't for Alice Neal, she'd never have sewn up your heart for you and God only knows where you'd be now._

He shook his head. His scattered thoughts over the past week were giving him headaches, not to mention awfully strange dreams.

But now Jack was saying something, so he tried to pay attention.

"The wee thing should be along any day now," They were looking at a _very_ pregnant cow. Everyone nodded. Duncan asked questions that Charlie didn't understand and received answers that were even more incomprehensible.

Nicholas wasn't paying much attention either; Charlie watched him approach a horse in its stall and feed it a piece of carrot on his flattened palm. He glanced back at Charlie and nodded, a greeting of sorts. Charlie's heart clenched at the friendly gesture and he gave his own rather pained nod in return. Figuring he'd nothing to lose by petting a horse, and understanding just enough of Jack and Duncan's conversation to find it distasteful in a completely different way from his disgust of the last few days, he took a few steps over toward his brother-in-law's... _friend_.

"It's nice to visit the country. We spend most of our time in London these days," Nicholas said, his eyes back on the horse.

"Hmm," Charlie managed in response, then chastised himself for his rudeness. "We used to — that is, _I_ used to spend every Season in London."

Nicholas nodded.

A second horse appeared in the next stall over, surprising Charlie with a nudge. Memories from his childhood came back through the tips of his fingers as he stroked the incongruously soft warmth of the horse's nose. The animal looked at him, blinked once with its absurdly long eyelashes, and nudged him again. Nicholas had come prepared and he handed him a carrot.

"Did you enjoy it? The glittering London Season?"

He initially took Nicholas's tone the wrong way and opened his mouth to respond with a speech on the honor of serving the Crawleys and running the house, but closed it again.

"Mostly. It was rather enjoyable."

"We used to do it, on a small scale, but — "

_But a valet isn't invited to a ball. And even if he were, we couldn't enjoy it. _He settled on something that was equally true, if considerably less vulnerable.

"...but it is a little less important now than it used to be."

"The world is changing."

"Oh. Well, yes, there is that, but I meant in a business sense; I don't really need to go to the events of the Season as much anymore."

"I see." He didn't know what else to say.

"I know Elsie missed you. But it meant she could come and visit here for a few days each year. We always tried to time our visits to coincide with hers."

_She missed me she missed me how long ago was that when did it start for her _—

"What was she like?" He surprised himself with the question.

Nicholas looked at him, puzzling out what he could mean by it. Charlie glanced at him too, then back to the horse.

"You mean Elsie."

"Yes," he answered quietly, thinking that this conversation was growing more bizarre by the minute.

Jack and Duncan overheard them. Duncan wanted to join them — a protective instinct. He would fight off Charlie's scorn if he had to; he just didn't want Nicholas facing it alone. But as he watched them interacting, he saw a tentative kindness in Charlie's manner that stopped him.

"I mean, of course I worked with her. But that's..."

"You want to know what she was like _here_."

Charlie looked at him fully and nodded, something desperate in his eyes.

* * *

Normally Jack would let the hired boys do the mucking out, but they didn't want to interrupt what looked like a cautiously amicable conversation by leaving the barn. Nor did they want to eavesdrop _too _conspicuously, though both were profoundly interested in what the other two men were saying to each other.

"I don't know. She was… she was Elsie. You know she and Duncan practically have their own language."

"You mean Gaelic?"

"No," Nicholas almost laughed, shaking his head. "No, not like that. I can't explain it — it's like they have their own world, with their own set of stories. Which I suppose they did, for a while. But you know that already."

"She said it was just them until Andra came along."

"It was. But... you wanted to know about young Elsie?"

"Yes, I suppose so, if you could…?"

"Well, you'll have to ask Duncan about the _very_ young Elsie. She was young when we first — when I met her, but not a child."

Charlie couldn't have imagined that what Nicholas wasn't saying was _When I got to meet his family._

* * *

_tbc..._


	225. Chapter 225

"Right, you two. We need some great lumbering beasts to haul some clean hay."

The interruption was a bit of a shock to Charlie's system. He'd been miles away. _Years_ away, he corrected himself; _right here_ but far removed.

He could almost see a younger version of his Elsie swooping up the children one after the other to dance a silly waltz. Apparently she had been able to charm wee Moira to sleep when no one else could. And the jokes and stories she used to tell after the children had gone to sleep and they'd all had a wee dram… he didn't repeat them, but Nicholas said she could be a little risqué when she wanted to be. Nicholas actually used the word _risqué_ and it brought him straight back to the seaside, her hand in his after all these years, her voice daring him to venture in with her.

_Thirty years... you can always hold my hand... thirty years._

And all the while he was marveling at the way Nicholas seemed like a normal man. In some ways he seemed like he could almost be Charlie's own brother. He had a sad sort of smile which contrasted with Duncan's coldness.

_Duncan_. Duncan haunted him a bit. To meet someone who looked so much like Elsie, but _...not_… was strange. That grin at dinner last week was the only spark of mirth he'd seen from him. In his memory it had transformed almost entirely into her smile.

Charlie was a bit clumsy at first with the pitchfork, but muscle memory from ages ago soon helped him find a decent rhythm. He saw that Nicholas was quite handy with the thing. So was Duncan.

_Duncan was actually mucking out the stalls just now,_ his mind told him_. Is that what you call 'no stomach for farming'?_

He stopped dead for a second, then started working again, not wanting to draw attention.

* * *

"He asked me about Elsie," Nicholas whispered into the crook of Duncan's neck once he'd caught his breath again.

"Hmm?" he responded, barely awake, his arms around his man's back. The icy, heavy rain and wind outside and the lock on the door had made them bold enough to try it with the house sleeping around them. And so they'd made love, each finding release in the expert touch of his lover's mouth and hands, the room silent but for their whispers and ragged breath. Now they lay together, spent and sleepy.

"I told him about her jokes."

Duncan's body tensed as he snorted with unexpected laughter. "Oh, good god. You didn't."

"I did," and Nicholas's wicked grin was audible in his whisper.

"And he didn't _flee in horror…?"_

Nicholas laughed silently. "No. And he spoke almost like a normal bloke to me again."

"Will wonders never cease."

He chuckled softly, "Indeed." Then he pulled the blankets up over them. "Maybe we should stay a bit longer than we'd planned, see what happens."

"Maybe so," Duncan mumbled as he fell asleep.

Nicholas smiled sleepily, then kissed Duncan's shoulder as he turned away.

* * *

_tbc_

* * *

a/n Duncan and Nicholas laughing about Charlie is _classic _mocking-the-oppressors stuff. It's not mean-spirited; it's a coping mechanism.


	226. Chapter 226

Charlie and Elsie got ready for bed, each trying not to disturb the other.

"How was your walk?" she asked nervously when he'd turned away to undo his trousers. She pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone as she waited for his answer.

"It was nice."

Surprised, she let out the breath she was holding. Her voice was a bit shaky as she repeated it. "Nice."

He turned toward her with a tentative smile. "Er. Yes. I even got to hear a bit about you from Nicholas."

"About _me?"_

Another shy smile and a bit of a nod. "Yes."

Her brow was knitted in a little frown and her question was a bit breathless. "What do you mean?"

"I asked him what you were like. Thirty years ago."

She bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

"It was Jack who told me that Nicholas has been coming here for such a long time."

"Oh," she managed slowly.

"Elsie, why didn't you tell me that?" He tried to ask gently. It sounded accusatory instead.

She sat down heavily on the bed. "I don't know," she said finally, her hands hovering before they fell into her lap. "It's... hard to see you rejecting him like this."

"I —" he choked on his words and shook his head, half-gesturing, helpless.

She wiped her tears away, then turned to go.

"Good night, Charlie."

"Good night," he managed. It sounded like a question, and he was unaware of his own open hands reaching out as she closed the door.

* * *

Again Elsie was up before dawn, having cuddled in with Betsy for a scant few hours' sleep. She was in the kitchen well before her sister. With one arm wrapped around her middle, she sat alone at the table in dim lamplight, stirring her tea. When she finally sipped it, it had gone cold. She pushed away from the table to put the kettle on again.

* * *

"What he wrote was so _awful_."

"I know. I know, love." Andra held one of Elsie's hands as she watched her sister wipe away her tears with the other.

"He thought they did things to children."

"I know. But you told him how wrong _that _is, didn't you?"

"Of course," Elsie responded, with a desperate little laugh that was followed by more tears.

Andra's heart clenched for her sister. For her brother too, for that matter. She'd never understood the logic of it, never wanted to think about it much — why on _earth_ anyone would honestly believe that two men loving one another meant they would want to hurt a child. If the stakes had been lower, she might have rolled her eyes. Laughed it off. The accusations were absurd, but even what they actually did together was enough to get them imprisoned. She shuddered.

"He believed you, I hope?"

"I think so," she said shakily, reaching for her tea. "I just — I never thought he would be like this about it, he's so..." She covered her mouth with her hand and her words disappeared as she sobbed.

Andra stood and pulled her to her feet, wrapping her arms around her and holding her as she let go. She wept into Andra's shoulder.

Andra looked up sharply as she heard footsteps approach. Charlie appeared in the doorway, froze, and left again. It was clear that he'd seen her expression, though — sorrow, compassion, and accusation all mixed together.

* * *

_tbc..._


	227. Chapter 227

Elsie was trying to get some sleep upstairs during the afternoon. _Alone_ — with tears in her eyes she'd made it clear she didn't want him in there with her. So here he was, rattling around the house. Rattling around inside his own head, too.

It felt like everyone was running away from him. They would tell him one single, terribly significant thing and then leave. Elsie apparently couldn't stand to be in the same room with him for more than a few minutes. He knew he was hurting her and he hated it, but he didn't know how to stop it.

None of it made sense. Two men, together for thirty years (together, whatever _that _entailed; he didn't want to think about it), and never one word about it from her. Not a single word. She'd said she didn't know what to do and he believed her. But it made even less sense to him than if she'd kept the secret for some deliberate reason.

* * *

"Andra?" he ventured.

"Oh my word, Charlie. You scared me half to death."

"I beg your pardon. I was just wondering if… if I might have a word."

"Aye, laddie, just let me catch my breath first."

Twenty years younger than him and she'd called him _laddie. _He couldn't help but laugh a little as he hesitated in the kitchen doorway.

She dried her hands and gestured to the table.

"Come on, then. Help me peel these and you can ask me whatever you like."

His eyebrows flew up. It had been ages since he'd even touched a potato except to eat it. But here he was, and she was handing him a knife. He took it, settling in with a sigh.

She considered him for a moment, hands on her hips. _What a darling man he is, really. A gentle giant. Mostly._

With a bit of a huff, she sat across from him, took up her own knife, and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm... Well, you know that I'm having a little bit of, er, difficulty..."

"Mm-hmm."

"You see, he, er, ahem. It's just that... I find him just a little bit ... unnerving."

She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes twinkling.

"What's funny?"

"That's not what I expected to hear."

"What did you expect?"

"It is _Duncan_ you're talking about, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "He just... He seems so cold."

Truly, it was so damned funny that she wanted to laugh — _Duncan_, her Duncan, her big brother who entertained her with animal noises and crazy stories when she was little. Duncan who could still tell a story and sing a song to make them all laugh so hard it hurt. The last word she'd ever have thought of to describe him was _cold. _Still, she knew he was capable of it. She'd seen it before, and had witnessed his transformation when Elsie told him she'd kept his secret from her husband. He hadn't dropped the act since.

"Cold and... and disapproving. I'm afraid I've done something to anger him." He winced. "Besides the obvious, I suppose. He doesn't like me because I don't, well … because he thinks I don't approve."

"Don't you?" she asked him sharply.

He hesitated before responding softly, "I don't know."

She raised her eyebrows, keeping her eyes on the potato in her hands. _My, my,_ she thought_, that sounds like progress. Something to tell Elsie later; it might cheer her up._ For now, she decided not to press it.

"He's not always like that, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Well. He really isn't. He's ... " She bit her lip, wondering how much to reveal.

"He's what?"

"He's... _funny_."

"Funny?" That sounded a bit alarming.

"No, no, I mean — not funny like _that_," she laughed, a bit nervously. "I mean he's ... He's great fun."

He just stared at her.

"It's an _act, _Charlie," she stated emphatically. At his furrowed brow and the beginning of a "_why"_ on his lips, she explained, "He does it to protect himself."

"Oh..." He thought he might be beginning to understand.

"He's had a hard life," she continued. Then, in a tone of mock boredom, "But I'm sure you've heard that from all of us. Duncan has had a hard life, Nicholas has had a hard life, Nicholas's father disowned him, his uncle took him in, and so on and so forth 'til kingdom come."

"I didn't know that about Nicholas."

"Well," she said briskly, "now you do." And she got up, turned her back to him and began to cut up the potatoes with quick, practiced movements. She slid them off the knife into the pot.

"But… how do I get Duncan to like me?"

She set the knife down hard and turned to look at him in disbelief. "What do you care?" She snapped. "Good Lord, man, you're acting like a child." Then she turned away, muttering, "_How do I get him to like me. _Honestly!"

He gasped, his mouth opening once, then closing again. Just as his brows began to lower in anger, she looked at him again. She saw the pain and confusion behind his bluster and gave a frustrated sigh. She chose her words carefully, tempering her own irritation.

"I've seen that you can be very kind, Charlie, and I've also seen you hurt my sister. Not just in _this_ mess, mind; if you recall, there was some nonsense about maids and rugs and standards" — she gestured dismissively — "when you'd just arrived. _No_, I'd like you to listen to me, please. I know that was a joke, and you sorted it the same day. I'm glad you did; it gives me some measure of hope." She knew her tone had turned sarcastic, so she took a deep breath before continuing, trying to be patient. "I find it very — _difficult_ to see her hurting like this, and to see my brother having to put on that act. I understand that this is new for you, and that you think it's wrong and all of that. But just — let it be, will you? Just let them _be."_

Feeling her own angry tears coming on, she quickly turned again, going back to cutting up the potatoes and sliding them into the pot.

When she spoke again, it was quiet, even a bit shaky, but forceful. "It's not like they're hurting you."

After a few moments she turned halfway and he saw her in profile. "Did you have anything else you wanted to ask me?"

He slowly shook his head. "No." Then he blinked as she turned back. He looked at his hands, then started peeling the potatoes again, for want of anything else to do.

* * *

_tbc_


	228. Chapter 228

As she lay down on her side of the bed they'd shared — she refused to take the middle — she caught the scent of his pillow and reached for it, holding it to her chest.

She _missed_ him. His warmth, the way he looked at her. She couldn't bear the pleading, guilty expression he wore all the time now. If only he would just _understand. _

She scowled at herself, knowing it wasn't fair to expect that of him.

A hairpin poked her and she pulled them all out, one by one, then laid them together on the table by the bed. She sighed, holding his pillow to her again.

About an hour later there was a knock at the door.

"Mm-hmm?"

The door opened a bit.

"Els?"

"Oh, hello Dunkie," she mumbled, turning toward him.

"May I come in?"

"Of course. Come sit, if you like."

"Thank you." He sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry about all of this."

"No." He was shaking his head. "No, Els. It's not your fault."

"I know," she sighed, "but he's being so... difficult."

He tilted his head to the side, looking at her sympathetically.

"I know that face," she muttered with a bittersweet smile.

"He was nice to Nick," he said gently. "Did anyone tell you that?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "No. He did say Nick told him about me, when we were young."

He grinned, folding his hands together. "He did indeed. Charlie asked him."

She tucked her chin and inhaled slowly, letting this information in, then drew her knees up and hugged them through the blanket. She leaned her cheek on her knees and looked at him.

He smirked. "You look about ten years old when you do that."

She snorted then, eyes sparkling. "That makes you nine, wee laddie."

"Come downstairs. Jack's taking your man to the village and we can bore everyone else with idiotic stories from our misspent youth."

* * *

Charlie had thanked Jack, but declined the trip to the village, preferring a walk alone instead. He took the diary — he'd started keeping it with him all the time, afraid that it could fall into the wrong hands. Whether that meant her hands, or the police (absurd, he knew; he would never report them but the fear was there nonetheless), or one of _them_, he didn't want anyone reading it. It was too raw, too harsh.

The things he wrote now (as he found himself sitting in the same damned stable again) were different. Careful, pained — but sincere, unlike his previous scrawls.

_Let them be_, Andra had said. He could do that. He _had_ been doing that. More or less. But it still bothered him; he couldn't understand why they all accepted their arrangement so readily.

He recorded his whirling thoughts, then smiled a little, remembering the way Elsie had trilled out the phrase "_whirling drift_" during their Burns night. He stopped writing, thinking of what they'd done afterward. He had felt so exposed, but it was alright. It was perfect.

He went completely still with the pen nib still pressed into the page and black ink starting to spread out unnoticed because all he could think was_ good god almighty, that's what they do to each other._

He felt foolish for not having realized it sooner, and shocked at the notion of it, and all the while he tried to ignore the strange question that was forming in his mind. Having that in common with Duncan and Nicholas… did it make him and Elsie deviants? _Surely not,_ he told himself. They were _married;_ they were free to do that… weren't they? It had felt so profoundly loving, so generous.

His thoughts led inexorably to the question he tried to avoid: Could such an act possibly be _loving_ between two men_?_

He glanced back at the page and cursed: ink had bled through several layers of paper and left stains on his knuckles. He would need to wash this off, and besides, the air was growing colder and he thought he ought to get back.

He tucked the pen and diary into his coat pocket and turned up his collar to the wind.

* * *

_tbc..._


	229. Chapter 229

He had set out to go back to the house, but he wasn't ready to talk with anyone, not with all of this clamoring in his head.

_Actual love… and both of them are men_. He was starting to feel less disgust than before, but it was no less baffling.

_Still… thirty years and never anyone else. _ The thoughts circled around and in on themselves, weaving in and out among the images of her. His Elsie, his darling spitfire, erstwhile teller of risqué jokes, gone silent and sad as he'd never seen her.

He shook his head, thinking _no, maybe I have seen it before_. When she'd feared for her life, she'd been a bit like this. She'd faced an unknown future, unable to share her burden with him. Now she was shutting him out again, but he was the cause of it. He cursed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, because he was realizing that _it_, what she was feeling, was not only anger and pain. No. She was _afraid._

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. Past the house, down the road, and on toward the loch. She was terribly afraid, and there was something he could do about it.

* * *

"Come downstairs. Jack's taking your man to the village and we can bore everyone else with idiotic stories from our misspent youth."

Elsie flinched, then frowned and gave a tiny, tense shake of her head.

"Duncan... as tempting as that is, I don't like the idea of — of _banishing him to the village_ just so we can have a good laugh without him."

His eyes searched her face and he realized that the pallor he'd noticed lately hadn't gone away. In fact, it was now accentuated by the dark circles under her eyes. She might have been trying for stern, but her expression looked pleading instead.

"No," he relented, "no, of course you wouldn't."

She sighed, then pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning her head back against the headboard as her other arm draped over her knees. Over a week of this harrowing fear (_will he report them is he going to leave what is he thinking does he still mean what he wrote_) and she was exhausted.

"Have they left already?" she muttered through her hand.

"I think so," he said quietly.

She nodded weakly, wincing as she started to massage her temples.

"Maybe you need to lie down a bit longer? Or would you like a Beecham's powder?"

"No," she said wearily, raising her head to look at him. "Thank you. I think I just need some air."

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said softly, getting up to leave.

"Thank you, Duncan."

She glanced out at the weather and grimaced. She hoped he'd wrapped up warmly. She put her hair up, drawing a hissing breath as she accidentally poked herself with a hairpin.

When she was fully dressed and presentable, she sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, thinking. Then she gave herself a shake and stood up, telling herself that it was good and right that he should take some time to himself. Her heart shouted at her to go out and find him and bring him in from the cold, and again she found herself with tears welling in her eyes.

"Damn it," she hissed into the silent room, pushing her tears away with the heel of her hand.

She checked the looking glass _(good god, Els, you look twice as tired as Moira and three times as old_). Pushing that thought away, she made her way downstairs.

* * *

_tbc_


	230. Chapter 230

The wind had died down and his breath billowed out of him in visible puffs of white. He slowed his pace and gave himself a good shake, hunching his shoulders to bring his scarf up around his chin. He walked with his eyes on the ground for a time, barely noticing when the road curved.

Then all at once the sound of his boots on the gravel was odd, more open and exposed; the grey light was brighter and he looked up. There was the loch — still a hundred yards below, but breathtaking in its cold and eerie beauty.

"Ohhh," he sighed into the cold air, shocking his own ears in the quiet after the crunch of his footsteps. He clapped his mouth shut and looked around, preparing to make some cough, some excuse for that embarrassing sound. There was no one.

He exhaled slowly and let himself look his fill of the loch for the first time. Thick mist floated close over the surface of the water. Sturdy green pines spread their muted color over the hills on the other side, and in the distance were mountains covered in snow. He stood there breathing in the silence for some minutes before continuing on his way. Soon the road curved again and the loch disappeared from sight, but he found himself squinting at an odd little stone path leading in between the trees.

* * *

She stood in front of the closed door of her childhood home and shivered. Once. Then she let out a deep sigh and watched as her breath disappeared.

She didn't have a headache; she just needed to think. Alone_._ She smiled grimly; she'd been alone _enough_. What she needed was space, time away from all of that. From that house, from her family.

Charlie would probably be in the barn or somewhere else on the farm. She knew he would be wanting space too, so she headed off down the road instead. _Besides, _she mused as her steps began to take her farther from the house, _I cannot abide the thought of another conversation in that stable._

She rapidly inhaled through puckered lips as the memories flashed up. Warm lamplight and his body. His complete trust in her. She tried to ignore the sharp pain behind her breastbone — a strange pain, as if her heart were actually shedding tears. She rolled her eyes at herself for being maudlin, but pressed one hand against that pain as she walked, quickening her pace to give herself something to do.

* * *

He was surprised he'd even seen the stones, half-covered as they were in moss. Then there was a little clearing near the edge of a cliff that provided a clear view of the loch. Someone had carved a bench out of the stump of some enormous tree.

The wood was grey with age. Some of it was smooth and weathered, while other parts had the beginnings of newer carved designs. An attempt at a Celtic knot here — he wondered if a young boy had done it; it was left half-unfinished. There was a fairly well-executed wolf's head on the... on the armrest, he supposed. And on the other armrest was an older carving: an elephant head whose trunk and tusks had long since broken off. He sat there for a few minutes, looking at the loch and absently running his fingers over the remarkably smooth and shining elephant head.

He gave a start, remembering his earlier idea. Then he took out his diary and pen knife. He opened the book, bending it back as far as it would go over his knee, and began methodically cutting out pages.

* * *

_tbc_

_thank you SO MUCH for your reviews and support! MWAH_


	231. Chapter 231

Her steady pace soon warmed her and she relaxed, letting her arms swing slightly. When the road curved and revealed the loch she even smiled a little, the corners of her mouth curling up and her eyes shining. She paused, feeling something unclench in her chest as it sometimes did when she took the time to come here. She breathed deeper, her shoulders back, her chin up. _God, _what a relief it was to be out alone in the fresh air.

Then she gave a quiet little laugh of recognition as she caught sight of the old stone path. She hadn't planned to go to the oak bench — she hadn't planned on going _anywhere_, really — but now it felt right.

* * *

He stood a few feet away from the water, watching the quiet waves and wondering madly if there might be a connection between this ghostly landscape and her preference for those strange novels.

He'd thought to drown the pages in the loch and then tell her about it, but that plan seemed idiotic to him now. Even if the ink didn't stand up to the water, she might not believe him. Then the obvious solution came to him. First he gasped, then he scowled at himself for even considering something else.

* * *

She sat down on the bench, took off her gloves, and rested her hand on Da's carved elephant head as they'd all done for ages. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and letting cool, crisp air fill her lungs. It carried the sweet scent of pine. _Delicious_. Oddly, the carving felt a bit warm to her touch, but she thought nothing of it.

After a few minutes she opened her eyes, feeling refreshed. She smiled a little at the sight of the wolf head on the other side and twisted around to find her knot carving. _Maybe I'll finish that, one of these days_, she thought with a twitch of her lips. She was looking for the weather-worn letters and dates carved into the wood when she saw several light-colored pine needles scattered on the wood. It was unusual for them to be so pale, so she picked them up to examine them.

What she felt with her fingertips defied what her mind told her, because these were too thin and pliable to be needles. She brought one of them close to her face to examine it and frowned, because what lay on her finger — and then fluttered away with the natural movement of her hand — was a tiny sliver of paper.

* * *

_tbc._

_Many thanks for your reviews and musings and speculation. I love reading what you think about this. xoxox_


	232. Chapter 232

The trees around the old bench provided some shelter and the wind had indeed died down some, but sitting still for those long minutes had let the cold creep into her body.

She shivered and got up, glad of her woolen scarf and hat as she left the clearing. Her pace was slower as her distracted mind worked away at the pieces of paper she'd found. _It's nothing. It's some momentous clue. It's some strange accident of the wind. It's nothing_.

She sped up, wanting to get down to the loch and back before the daylight was gone.

Those wisps of paper were _bone dry_.

* * *

He still held the loose pages in one hand and the diary tucked under his arm. Several shreds of paper hung off where the blade of his pen knife had cut an uneven line through more than one page at once. He plucked these, then idly rolled them into a tiny ball which he flicked at the water. He scowled when instead of sinking, it bobbed along with the shallow waves, soon making its way back toward shore.

Grumbling at the vague implication — _can't be rid of this so easily_ — he stooped to pick it up from the frigid water. He crushed the water out of it and resignedly stuck it in his pocket.

Then he carefully slid the pages back into the book, tucked it under his arm — and halted his movements, certain he'd heard someone coming down the gravel road. He frowned slightly and tilted his head to listen.

* * *

The road curved around twice more before reaching the loch. As the shore came into view, Elsie's steps faltered once before righting themselves because twenty yards away was a tall, broad figure with madly curling grey hair. Even as he turned and she saw him in profile, she wondered if it could really be him. It could be someone else; it might not be the one person she desperately wanted to see but didn't quite feel ready to face.

He'd turned around fully as she approached and now he was looking at her. Just looking. He didn't seem surprised.

He didn't seem _anything._ If she had been standing very close to him and very still, she might have felt the way his heart was pounding. She could have seen it in the pulse point on his neck and even in the sight tremor it created as the blood rushed through his body. Instead she walked toward him, her own heart unknowingly hammering away just like his.

Of course he was here, which meant he'd been _there_ — _how on earth did he find it; you can't even see the path anymore, what did he see what did he think _— and those slivers of paper meant he'd cut something out of his little book, but to what purpose? He'd _said_ he didn't want to send either of them to prison. He'd _claimed_ he didn't truly think they did things to little children.

"Are you sending those pages you've cut out to the authorities, then?" Her voice started off strong and accusing but by the end of it she broke off in a sob, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth.

His eyes went wide in confusion, his brow furrowed, and he wanted to ask her how on _earth_ she knew he'd been cutting pages out, but he emphatically shook his head.

"No. _Never_."

She was nodding quickly, pushing tears away with her gloved hand, glaring in frustration at the glove, walking toward him. And he stepped forward, shifted the book to one hand, and tentatively took her into his arms, repeating, "No, love. Never. I wouldn't. I won't."

She tensed at first, but when she let herself soften against him, his arms tightened around her. She wept in choking sobs, her arm tucked up between them to press a hand to her breastbone.

It felt wrong to be holding the offending book like some kind of bulwark over her back, so he loosened his hold, shushing her protests as he quickly bent down to place the book on the ground. Then, with a fleeting thought to the wind, he stepped firmly on top of the book before taking her back into his arms. He buried his face in her scarf, in her hair, and inhaled deeply. _Thank god,_ he thought. _Thank god._

* * *

_tbc_

_many thanks for the reviews! xoxox_  
_special thanks to evitamockingbird and chatelaine-s for last-minute discussions about this chapter!_


	233. Chapter 233

"I'm not sending the pages anywhere," he insisted, his voice soft and deep in her ear. "They're in the book again for now, but I'm going to burn them." She shuddered in his arms, sobbing harder than before, and he did not try to stifle the tears that came to his own eyes.

They stood like that until her sobs quieted, with him holding her close and her arms pressed between them. He cradled her head in his hand, holding her gently against him, and she drew a deep and shaking breath as she unfolded her arms to wrap them around him.

His voice was soft and questioning when he spoke again: "We can burn them together."

She nodded against him, then pulled back and began to search her pockets, her breath still stuttering. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her; she managed to thank him with a short, helpless laugh.

He left his hands on her shoulders as she turned her head away to dab her nose and dry her tears.

"We should get back," she admitted, meeting his eyes again.

He gave her a rueful, hesitant smile.

"I…" she began, then looked away, her hands limp at her sides.

"Hmm?" he said gently, wanting to tilt her chin up but not quite daring to do so.

"I don't know." For want of anything else, she took his bare hand in her gloved ones and kissed it, then turned it, alarmed to see the ink stain on his knuckles. She looked at him questioningly.

It was just the oddness they needed to break the spell, and he gave a helpless little breath of laughter. "I was lost in thought."

"Was that before or after you started cutting out pages?"

"Before."

"What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about... how strange it would be for two men to be in love with one another."

The implications of what he'd said made the air leave her lungs. She froze, staring at him wide-eyed before her gaze slid away from his face. She stared unfocused at something past his shoulder as questions crowded her mind. She couldn't sort through them quickly enough to articulate them in any order that would make sense.

"Elsie?"

She looked back at him and somehow managed speech, however breathless. "You could knock me down with a feather."

He blinked, uncertain of what she'd concluded.

"I don't understand it; I don't understand _them_, but..." He swallowed hard. To be honest, he still thought it all rather strange and more than a little wrong, but something had shifted. He wasn't sure himself exactly what that shift was, but he wanted her to know. He searched for the right words. "I think I'd like to put an end to… to this _atmosphere_."

She nodded, biting her lips together as she tamped down her elation. She still held his hand in hers and he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek and wipe away the tear that lingered there. His hand and her face were both cold as she leaned into his touch; he shivered as her lips pressed against his warmer wrist.

His movement seemed to jolt her out of her thoughts and she looked up at him, taking both of his hands in hers.

"I'm glad," she whispered as another tear fell. He leaned down and she stiffened, then relaxed as he kissed her cheek. Although he could understand why, it still hurt to know that she wasn't ready to kiss him yet.

* * *

_tbc_

_thank you for your support! please leave a review if you have a moment; I love reading what you're thinking. xox_


	234. Chapter 234

There was still so much to ask, so much to explain, but they were silent as they followed the road, drawing warmth from each other where her hand was tucked into his elbow. Their steps slowed as they approached the mossy stone path, but then she urged them on.

"It's getting dark," she said softly. "We can see it again tomorrow."

He hummed his agreement and they went on. After a few minutes he had to ask.

"How did you know I'd been there?"

"There were bits of paper on the bench. Then I saw you with the book."

He blinked rapidly. "That's … amazing."

"Maybe. I think you'd have been able to deduce the same, Mr Carson."

"I'm not so sure, Mrs Holmes."

For a second he feared he'd offended her, but her light laugh and squeeze to his arm told him otherwise.

* * *

Everybody went to bed early after enduring an evening meal that was awkward at best. Charlie's forced politeness had been replaced by clumsy attempts at friendliness, and while Andra smiled encouragingly at him and Elsie occasionally squeezed his hand, Duncan had not dropped his act.

Perhaps it did not help after all that Elsie had changed places, sitting next to Charlie instead of across from him as she had been. Nicholas now sat directly across from him, with Duncan at his side across from Elsie. Charlie had the sudden and jarring realization that Duncan was being protective not only of himself, but also — especially — of Nicholas. Their current positions made it more noticeable, as Duncan had to direct his ..._ disapproval? coldness? something_... across Nicholas to reach Charlie. He could have been standing in front of Nicholas, his arms stretched out to the sides to defend him, and it wouldn't have been more obvious.

Charlie was fairly quiet during the rest of dinner as his mind worked over this new bit of information.

* * *

She had just finished in the washroom, headed back to their room where he was waiting, when she saw wee Betsy in the doorway of the girls' bedroom.

"Auntie Elsie?

"Yes, petal."

"Aren't you coming to tell me a story?"

Charlie had appeared in their doorway and she gave him an apologetic look. He nodded, giving her a little smile, and she turned back to Betsy.

"I will. But then you'll have your bed all to yourself, love."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going back to my bed."

"With Unckie Charlie?" He noticed she'd found an easier word to pronounce than 'uncle.' The endearment pulled at his heart.

"That's right."

Betsy considered this. Then she tugged on Elsie's hand again.

"Tell me a story."

Normally she would have gently chided Betsy on asking more nicely, but she was too tired.

"Very well," she sighed. "Just one. A short one, mind."

Letting the little girl pull her away, she said to her man, "You go ahead. I'll join you."

So she went in, told the bird rescue story, and promptly fell asleep curled up next to Betsy.

He lay awake for a while and tried to get up the gumption to go in search of her, but fell asleep on his own. Even so, both of them slept better than they had in days.

She woke up several hours later feeling chilled and stiff. She blearily lifted her head, pushed a few hairs out of her face and sat up, stifling a groan.

She left the room as quietly as she could, tiptoeing until she could remove her shoes in the corridor.

When she entered their room, she found him asleep, in pajamas, curled tightly on top of the blankets, his nose practically buried in the pillow that he held in his arms.

Tears stung her eyes at the sight of him, and she covered her mouth to quiet a half-sob when she realized it was _her _pillow he was holding. She changed clothes as quickly and quietly as possible, took her hair down and braided it, and tied it with a ribbon.

She circled around to his side of the bed and touched his shoulder.

"Charlie," she whispered. Nothing. He kept snoring.

"Charlie," she said a little louder, giving his shoulder a little shake.

"Hmmmph?"

"Come on, come get warm."

Docile and heavy with sleep, he obeyed, slipping between the sheets and turning toward her. She wept softly with relief and fatigue as she lay down in his arms.

* * *

_tbc..._

_Many thanks for your reviews, including you lovely guest reviewers to whom I would respond if I could!_


	235. Chapter 235

**HOLY BALLS, YOU GUYS! MARRIAGE EQUALITY IN ALL OF THE U.S.?! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! JUNE 26, 2015. THANKS TO THE SUPREME COURT. FUCK YES.**

**And now, here's some early 20th-century homophobia to get you down. Saaaaad.**

* * *

He startled awake in the darkness, hissing as something cold kicked him right in the belly. Elsie woke more slowly, though the process was doubtless sped up some by his arm jerking out from underneath her head and by the small child climbing over her.

"Auntie Elsie, I had a bad dream."

"Mmmmh?" she mumbled as she turned over. He rose up on his elbow and his eyes went wide as the sound she'd made reminded him of the night he'd walked into her room in London. He blinked two or three times, then simply watched and listened. Betsy ignored him.

"Will you tell me a story?"

"No, Betsy, not right now."

"Please?"

"No, love. Let's get you back to sleep."

"Can I stay here?"

She glanced questioningly up to Charlie, who looked surprised, then nodded. "Of course," he whispered.

"Yes, petal."

"Thank you, Auntie Elsie." Her childish _th_ sounded like _f _and it made him smile.

* * *

Her fingers traced the contours of the broken trunk and tusks and as always, she sent a prayer of thanks up to whomever might be listening.

"Do you want to know how this broke off?" A rare bit of mid-morning sun shone through the white puff of her breath.

"I thought it was just the wind and the weather."

"No, it was Andra."

"I imagine she got a good scolding for that."

"Ah, but it wasn't like that."

"No?"

She shook her head. "She must've been about... eight? I think so. Anyway, she'd tripped on a root and she went spinning round as Duncan caught her hand."

"Oh my word."

"Yes indeed. She came very close to losing an eye, in fact. Instead, her other hand" — she gestured, trying to explain — "caught the trunk and she broke it off. In the end she suffered no worse than a few slivers in her hand and a bruised bottom from landing hard on the ground."

"Good god."

"Yes, we were very lucky. After that we cut off the tusks too. When we told Da why, he said we'd done right and that we should give it a boar's nose. We never did, though."

"So I see." He paused, then grinned as he ventured, "Should we do it now?"

She smiled back. "I suppose you've got a knife with you?"

"I have, yes."

"Well, then…"

And so he sat on his heels and stuck the knife point in what was left of the elephant's trunk, twisting the blade to create round holes. The elephant soon had a snout. It looked ridiculous. They both grinned at it, then she asked for the knife.

"Whatever for?" he asked as he stood up. He was only curious, but his question sounded cautious.

"So I can put some more lines on my _ancient knot_." She laughed, "Why, what did you think?"

"That's _yours_?"

"Aye, Mr Carson." And she took his knife, twisted around while sitting on the bench, and worked on her carving for a few minutes. He stood off to one side, then ended up leaning over to watch her work, his hands braced on the back of the bench. First his eyes were drawn to her hands as she deftly cut away the old wood, exposing the new. Then he watched her face. She'd drawn her bottom lip into her mouth and she had a slight frown as she worked. He wondered when she'd begun the carving.

"That'll do for now," she decided, then turned to face him.

He was very close and his expression made her breath catch in her throat. She folded up the pen knife and handed it back to him. He took it, put it away, then held her hands and drew her up toward him, cupped her face in one hand, and leaned down, cautiously, slowly — and kissed her. He was terribly relieved that she kissed him back, however briefly.

* * *

"So, how did you two, er, meet?"

Elsie froze. It was an odd question to put to a gentleman and his valet, even if they were close friends. The bairns didn't know that, but this was dangerous territory.

Duncan looked across the dinner table at the children, then looked at him, his face expressionless.

"I put an advertisement in the paper for a valet and Duncan answered it," Nicholas said levelly.

He frowned. "But then how did you kn—"

Elsie coughed and he stopped himself, blinked, and tried not to let on.

"Hmm," was all he could manage. He had all kinds of questions in his mind. _How did you decide you were this way, why do they all accept this, how do I escape scrutiny and avoid offending Elsie again. _He would just have to suppress those questions until _they_ left, then he and Elsie could get on with their lives.

He cleared his throat. "Where, er, where has been your favorite place to travel?"

Duncan and Nicholas looked at each other briefly, each clearly considering the question. Then Duncan's eyes lit up. "Constantinople."

"Jerusalem," Nicholas had said at the same time. "Oh! Constantinople, yes, that was wonderful. When was that, nineteen..."

"1905, I think?"

"No — wait, no, it was 1906, because, remember? There were the two women who escaped the harem and fled the city by train. Amazing story, really."

"Yes. Yes, that's right..." Duncan was more animated than Charlie had ever seen him as he told a story from their visit to that ancient city. He stared at him rather too long, not really listening, but wondering what all they'd got up to in Constantinople. He'd heard somewhere that men of that sort liked those warm, exotic places where they could be more free to do... well. Whatever they did. He couldn't quite comprehend their special affection for one another, nor the family's ready acceptance of their behavior.

He'd said he wanted to do away with 'that atmosphere' and he was successful, but the one that replaced it was no more pleasant. It was becoming clear that his attempts at friendliness were nothing but attempts to _seem_ friendly. And in that they failed. His well-established inability to lie made the insincerity of his efforts painfully transparent.

* * *

_tbc._

a/n: Constantinople! (I constantly had the song "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" in my head as I worked on this chapter.) The name officially changed in 1930, though the name İstanbul was in use some before then. And that escape really happened. It was a biiiig thing.

Also, northern folk (to overgeneralize) had this notion that the Mediterranean lands were this wonderland for Teh Gay Men (for whom there were plenty of terrible words and I'll leave it at that for now). It's all mixed up with persistent notions of normative masculinity (and normative everything else) that exclude and very much exoticize the Muslim world. Colonialism, exoticizing the Other, etc etc etc. There were indeed places that got a reputation for tolerance (and, yes, male brothels, but That's Not The Point. Charlie just... *sigh.* we'll see what happens.


	236. Chapter 236

"He's only doing it for _her_. It's almost worse."

"I know," Nicholas sighed. "I agree, in fact."

Duncan snarled, "He ought to pay attention to who's about when he starts _bloody _dropping _bloody hints_."

"I don't think the children noticed anything," Nicholas soothed.

"No," he spat. "Not this time, they didn't. What happens _next_ time he opens his mouth?"

Nicholas sat down on the bed. "I don't know." He let his hands fall into his lap. "I don't know. I... I don't think he realizes just how high the stakes are."

"You're damn right he doesn't realize— "

Nicholas tilted his head at Duncan, looking at him calmly.

Duncan's demeanor softened and he sat down next to Nicholas, taking his hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you."

Nicholas put an arm around Duncan, who leaned heavily into him.

* * *

It wasn't that he disliked them personally. He certainly didn't wish them ill. He just didn't like it. It felt like a constant affront to his sense of order.

He wouldn't _do_ anything about it, mind. That was out of the question. He would just have to muck along. He acutely felt the discomfort of playing this false role. On stage his characters had been so distant from his own personality that he'd had no problem playing them. On their little Burns night he'd had a script and the assurance of everyone's acceptance. Now he was at loose ends.

She startled him out of his thoughts as she entered their bedroom. She closed the door and began taking hairpins out. He watched, transfixed as her hair fell, long curls and waves coming free all around her.

"Would you like to braid it?"

He'd missed that lovely little smile these past few days. He nodded and she sat down, letting him run his fingers through her hair and plant kisses on her neck as he assembled a fairly neat braid. She handed him the ribbon and he managed it without her even holding the end.

"There."

"Thank you, kind sir."

He smiled, humming, then was lost to his thoughts again while she began unbuttoning her dress.

"Are you alright?"

He raised his head to look at her, then let a smile curl his lips and tried to make it reach his eyes.

"Oh, er, yes. Of course."

She turned and faced him in her underthings, hands on her hips, then gave a huff and turned away again.

"You realize I don't believe that for a minute." She was making quick work of changing into her nightgown.

He sighed. "I don't think you'll want to know."

He looked up at her from his position on the edge of the bed. His expression looked pleading. She rested both hands on his shoulders. His hands lay still in his lap.

"Oh, my man." It sounded faintly like a lament. She steppd in between his knees and wrapped her arms around his head and he hugged her around the waist.

He had no idea where he would start if he tried to discuss this.

"I can hear your heart," he murmured.

She smiled slightly. "And I can feel your voice."

He could feel that she was holding her breath. She let it out in a rush and pulled back; he released her, his hands resting lightly on her hips. He looked up at her and she combed the hair at his temples with her fingertips. He closed his eyes and she cupped his face, her thumbs at his cheekbones, caressing the fragile skin beneath his eyes.

"You still don't like it."

He opened his eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

She scoffed. "Well, I won't press you to talk about it..."

He flexed his fingers against her, just slightly. She dropped one of her hands to his shoulder, letting the other one slip down his cheek. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip and he gasped, vaguely chasing her touch as it slipped away.

"...but I hope you will. It's very hard, you know, having you and them at odds like this."

"I'm not at odds with anyone," he insisted.

She said nothing, but just gave him a look as she extracted herself from his embrace.

"What? I'm not," he insisted.

"If you say so. Come on then." And she pulled back the covers to get into bed.

* * *

_...and at last he is inside her again, her arms wrapped loosely around his head, fingers clenching his shoulder. She pulls him closer to kiss him and he slows down to prolong this for her. The kiss changes from frantic to something both tender and urgent. Her hair is spread out dark over the pillow, tiny beads of sweat dot the smooth skin of her forehead, and she is flushed and breathless, mouth open mid-laugh or mid-moan or both, who can tell anymore? She catches him staring and smiles as her eyes slide closed again._

_Her legs wrap around his hips as he rocks back and forth, then pulls out just enough to thrust slowly back into her. Good god, he has missed her._

_His knees do not protest; his back is supple and strong. Her high, full breasts bounce enticingly with their movements. Her belly is just starting to show the promise of new life that they've made together._

_"I hope you'll like him," she tells him, her voice oddly calm. Somehow he knows she's talking about their child._

_He becomes aware that they are not alone; that a faceless crowd is in the room with them. No one seems to notice the two of them. Then they are standing, his arousal not forgotten. She tells him she needs a coat, but every one he shows her is wrong and she cries. He is in a dressing gown but she is wearing nothing but her corset in the middle of some village, her belly flat, her hands trying to cover between her legs._

He took a sudden, deep breath as he woke. He went to rub his eyes and stopped, his breath catching in confusion at finding his face wet with tears.

She lay next to him, warm and soft, breathing deeply in the rhythm of sleep. He rolled into his back, leaving his one arm trapped under her. With his palm and the back of his hand he dried his face. He lay awake for some time trying to make sense of the dream.

It puzzled him that his primary concern during the last part of the dream was not her embarrassment but the fact that she might hurt herself walking around barefoot like that. In the dream it hadn't even occurred to him to offer her his dressing gown to cover her nakedness.

* * *

_tbc..._

* * *

Ahhh, NipS 236. In which the author has watched far too many videos of Malcolm Tucker in _In the Loop._ I toned it down a lot though. Good god I love Peter Capaldi. It's a new love, so it's really loud. :-)


	237. Chapter 237

Earlier they'd burnt the pages together, him crumpling them up first, her refusing to read them but still tearing them into little scraps before feeding them to the fire in their room. But those missing pages left an odd little gap that made the book fall open to that page every time — an unwanted, blank frontispiece to a book he wasn't ready to write.

But he had to write it. And so he left several blank pages before beginning, in order to avoid feeling quite so exposed — he'd never done this before, and why would he have done? He chastised himself. Writing down one's dreams, how absurd. How self-indulgent. He pursed his lips and started to write as clinically as possible. He told himself he was simply making a report and nothing more.

_"Strange dream this morning. Bedroom. E. younger, with child. Both of us young, in fact. Then, people present. Intruders in room, but different. Scene changed to village. Baby" _—

He hesitated, noticing a little catch in his breath. His heart had started to beat faster, or maybe something was happening to him? He felt a pain behind his breastbone and pressed his hand against it.

— _"gone. Not lost, in that way; simply no longer existing."_

He paused to wipe at the tears that threatened to fall, unsure of the connection between what had happened in the dream and his emotional state which seemed quite out of proportion.

_"E. standing alone in unnamed village. Corset and little else."_

He crossed it out.

_"E. standing alone in unnamed village. Corset and nothing else. Barefoot. Dressing gown could have helped? Did not think to offer. Unclear why main concern of mine is likelihood of E.'s foot injuries."_

He stared at what he'd written, closed his eyes, and dragged a hand down over his face before continuing.

_"Attempted to offer coats; all were wrong and E. crying."_

_"E. crying," _he wrote again, beginning a new paragraph. _"Does not stop, or cannot stop. It seems I have failed her."  
_  
He stopped abruptly and stared at that unexpected sentence, his knuckles going white as he gripped the pen. A few moments passed before he gave a little shake of the head, his brow furrowed. He breathed in deeply. Then he quickly capped the pen, closed the book, and turned off the lamp.

As he lay down, she turned toward him and hummed in her sleep, then cuddled up against him with her head on his shoulder. He froze for an instant and then slowly relaxed, trying to keep his breathing even, worried that she would notice his rapidly-beating heart. It took him at least another hour to get back to sleep.

* * *

"Well, you've all got a rare chance to witness the miracle of birth today if you like," Nicholas deadpanned at breakfast.

Charlie didn't immediately understand what Nicholas was on about. The only thing he could think was _but _— _Moira already had her baby, what on earth? And why would I want to see it? _— and he nearly choked on his tea.

"More like the horror of birth if you ask me," said Andra cheerfully, setting a platter of eggs in front of the two men who were at the table. "But it's nothing we haven't seen before. They said the wee thing is a bit turned round."

Charlie started to form a _"what?" _but didn't get past the silent rounding of his lips before Andra spoke again.

"Dunk and Jack gave been out in the stable for hours. That poor beastie." She sat down and took a sip of her tea.

At that point he realized it must be the cow. But then because he'd slept so poorly (and spent time pondering his dream, and written it down in the middle of the night, but this he didn't want to think about), he found that his over-tired mind allowed him to say unplanned things.

"I'm surprised I didn't hear them."

He looked up. Andra smirked and Elsie's eyebrows rose in an expression of curiosity, while Nick looked a bit alarmed.

"You were awake at half-past four in the morning? Are you alright?" he asked.

Nicholas's sincere concern threw Charlie a bit further off balance than he already was. "Oh. Er, yes. I, ahem. I had a lot on my mind, I suppose. I was just doing a bit of writing."

Elsie had been buttering her toast as she listened, and now she froze, looking up at him sharply. He gave a bit of a start, his eyes went wide, and he rushed to dispel her fears.

"Oh! No. Nothing like that." Then he realized he'd revealed too much, but in the same breath he remembered that Elsie hadn't told Duncan and Nicholas about his dangerous writing. He nearly stuttered for a moment, then gave up, deciding to admit the truth.

"Only, I've had a strange dream and I was writing it down to see if I might make any sense of it."

The tension dissipated and in his relief he actually gave a nervous little bit of laughter.

"But, er, thank you — Nicholas, for asking," he added quickly. "I am. Quite alright, that is."

"I'm glad," Nicholas replied with a nod. Then he shocked Charlie and perhaps Elsie and Andra as well by inviting Charlie to join him on a stroll after breakfast.

* * *

tbc...

* * *

many thanks for your reviews! This VERY much includes you lovely guest reviewers, to whom I would reply individually if I could. Xoxox.

This time there's a Kafka reference. Wheee!


	238. Chapter 238

Charles considered refusing, citing the terrible headache that he really did have, but in the end he politely accepted Nicholas's offer. They were gently and firmly excused from helping to clear the table and off they went.

Andra looked at Elsie after setting down her tea.

"He gave you a fright just now."

"Indeed he did," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders up and dropping them to release tension. "We've burned what he'd written before."

Andra's eyebrows flew up. "Did you now?"

Elsie nodded. "It was such a relief."

"Oh, thank heaven," Andra breathed.

* * *

He rather looked forward to seeing the calf, even though he knew this could be a messy business.

What he had _not at all_ expected to see was Duncan with both arms practically shoulder-deep in the cow, speaking in low and urgent tones to Jack, who was doing his best to keep the cow calm. Both men ignored Nicholas and Charlie as they carefully stepped closer.

"My god," Charlie whispered in disgust. He couldn't help but feel a certain admiration for Duncan's ability to do... whatever he was doing.

Charlie was beginning to feel a bit queasy, but he made himself conceal it. He had to turn away a few times, and as the time went on and eventually the calf was born, Charles was increasingly impressed by the skill and care with which Duncan helped deliver the calf. As it tottered about on its clumsy newborn legs, he began to wonder just why Duncan hadn't taken the farm himself.

* * *

_She's just poured his tea and handed it to him; he nods his thanks._

_It's his pantry but not his pantry. The windows are floor to ceiling and the sun is streaming into the room. It's too hot. His collar is tight, his shoes feel a size too small. He doesn't know why he's wearing his hat, which is also too tight. Her hair has gone completely grey and it's down all around her shoulders. She's wearing some kind of gown, grey as well._

_He asks as tenderly as he can whether she will let him braid it for her, already knowing the answer._

_"If only," she replies, and he understands why. The phrase "it's too late" announces itself in his mind._

_She sits down in his red plush chair and pours herself a glass of sherry. Then the sherry is gone and she picks something up from his desk. She turns and offers it to him with both hands. He accepts it in his cupped palms. It's a bloodless, beating heart the size of his fist. Then he looks up at her but she's facing the window. She reaches into her pocket, turns, and hands him another one. Two warm hearts beating in his palms, red and alive - but not bleeding._

_He turns around and she's gone, her figure disappearing down the hall. He sits on the floor, his back against the desk, the cold stone freezing his limbs until he is stuck there._

_When she comes back, she is pale and silent. She lies flat on his desk, her limp hand floating just above his head but out of reach. She's trying to turn her head and talk to him but he refuses to speak._

* * *

He woke up sweating, clutching her pillow. He took a deep, gasping breath and wondered what the hell that was all about.

Still feeling groggy and heavy, and a bit shaken from the dream, he slowly rose and dragged his clothes on.

He paused upon exiting the bedroom because he could hear them in the sitting room. Everyone sounded different. No, actually Jack and Andra sounded nearly the same. But they were all more relaxed. It was lovely, like when he and Elsie had first arrived. He stopped in the hallway and listened, shocked by the great change he could hear in Duncan.

* * *

_tbc..._


	239. Chapter 239

**a/n. There is a ****trigger warning**** here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. Also for having conversations with oneself inside one's own head. CC isn't actually dissociating here and he's not going to, really, but if you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering. (Also, don't stare at your reflection. Not recommended.)**

* * *

_He paused upon exiting the bedroom because he could hear them in the sitting room. Everyone sounded different. No, actually Jack and Andra sounded nearly the same. But they were all more relaxed. It was lovely, like when he and Elsie had first arrived. He stopped in the hallway and listened, shocked by the great change he could hear in Duncan._

* * *

The fairly weak light outside told him it must be near dawn. It seemed strange for them all to be down there talking and laughing so early in the morning, though. He frowned, then groaned aloud at the pain in his head, pressing the heel of his hand between his eyebrows to try to force out the tension.

_Breakfast. A walk with Nicholas. Oh... oh god, the calving._

He grimaced, recalling the blood and mess of it, then shuddered as he remembered those strangely clean hearts in the dream.

_Hearts pumping without blood. It doesn't work. They don't work. They're broken._

"Ugh." He rolled his eyes, thinking his interpretation a touch maudlin.

He now remembered having come upstairs after lunch to get some rest. The time of day rearranged itself in his mind as he realized it must be teatime.

_She was dying_.

His heart started pounding, but it made no sense. The dream hadn't been about her death. But he knew with a certainty that could only come from the twisted logic of dreams that _yes, she was dying_. He told himself_ no, no, she's downstairs, listen to her laughing, she's alright, her heart isn't broken —_

_She was dying, or already dead. And so horribly alone._

He pressed his lips together. These dreams were starting to get under his skin. It was rather unsettling.

He pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing at the sore, raw question of a feeling there. It brought temporary relief, but he who normally had impeccable posture began to curl protectively into himself, shoulders hunched forward as he unknowingly shielded his own heart.

He told himself he should simply brush his teeth and splash some water on his face, then go downstairs and join them.

* * *

With water beading on his face and dripping down onto his shirt, he stared at his reflection until it looked strange. He hadn't known that was possible, but there it was, and he turned away with a shudder.

After those disorienting dreams, he'd brought on his own inability even to recognize himself. The cruel humor of it was not lost on him. He gave a grim little "hmm" of a laugh.

He splashed more water on his face, then dried it, dabbing pointlessly at his shirt as well. When he glanced at the mirror again, he saw a tired, haggard version of himself.

_Pull yourself together._

It did no good. He tried to dispel the immediacy of the dream by noticing the things around him.

A porcelain sink. A looking-glass with a few tiny rust spots creeping down from the corner, locked away in the metallic layer behind the glass. He focused on a small chip in the sink and found himself hoping no one had been injured when it happened.

He imagined Elsie and Duncan as children and wondered whether they used to fight over who could use the bathroom first. Maybe they used to brush their teeth at the same time. He shook his head at himself. They would have had an outdoor privy. He had no idea what this room would have looked like.

There were footsteps coming up the stairs. He pushed his thoughts away, shook his head, and turned to leave the room.

He gave a start: it was Duncan. He resisted the urge to press his hand to his breastbone yet again to soothe it after the adrenaline that had rushed through him. He didn't want to look — _what, Charlie? weak? pained? feminine?_ — in front of Duncan.

"I — beg your pardon," he murmured, making room for Duncan to pass.

"Not at all," Duncan said, almost friendly in his manner. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his face from the festive atmosphere downstairs and Charlie found himself staring.

"Are you alright?" Duncan asked him. It was a bit of a shock to hear him speak so earnestly. "You're..." He frowned slightly, taking a step toward his brother-in-law. "You're not looking well."

"Er..."

Duncan tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at him. That familiar expression on Elsie's face could normally put Charlie at ease enough to move on from whatever small problem was bothering him. Now he was just confused. The resemblance was spooky, the smile therefore both charming and unnerving, and he knew it was ridiculous to flatten himself against the wall as he was doing. Completely absurd. As if Duncan were contagious.

Duncan caught the frightened look in Charlie's eyes and scoffed. "I'm not going to bite you, mate."

Charles gave a small laugh and relaxed somewhat, his hands falling to his sides from where they had been pressed against the wall.

"No. Of course not," he relented. "I didn't think you would. I just — er, it's been a bit of an odd day."

"Right." Duncan looked skeptical, then seemed to consider and dismiss some further question. "Well, if you'll excuse me..."

"Right, of course. I'll just..." Charlie gestured in the other direction and trailed off. They nodded at each other and went their separate ways, Duncan into the bathroom and Charlie into the bedroom.

He closed the door and sank onto the bed, holding his head and groaning his embarrassment into his hands. Then he looked up and listened, worried that someone had heard him. There was nothing.

* * *

_tbc..._

_many thanks for your reviews and tumblr love. xox_


	240. Chapter 240

**a/n. There is a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. Also for having conversations with oneself inside one's own head. CC is not exactly dissociating and he isn't going to, but if you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

As they'd finished their tea, Duncan took her aside to let her know he'd seen Charlie and that he wasn't looking well. She went up as soon as she was able, knocked softly, and opened the door.

There he was. The great force of disapproval, the guardian of unyielding tradition. Her dear man, asleep in his clothing, on top of the blankets with his knees tucked up close and his socked feet curled together.

"Charlie?"

_Some disembodied voice is trying to call him out of this, or lure him further in. He cannot look away from the scene in front of him. He feels nothing._

"Charlie, love, it's just about dinner time."

_It can't be dinner time. The day is bright, perfect for the garden party. The remaining children are still playing. There's a sack race. Some of them are eating sweets. He feels nothing at all for the ones who have gone: A five-year-old Lady Mary, a one-year-old Miss Sybbie. Mr Barrow and Anna, both five years old. A few village children. A tiny version of Duncan, of course. Off they go. They don't struggle physically; they are simply led out of sight. It is odd the way they are silent with tears streaming down their faces. He has been told they are all "foul" in some way or another and therefore must be sent away. He has done nothing to stop it. Rules are rules. Good riddance._

She rounded the bed and saw the book he held loosely in his hand. She rather wanted to find out what he'd been writing, but instead she gently pulled it away and set it on the table, then sat on the bed, close within the curve of his body.

"Charlie," she said softly, switching on the lamp as she laid her hand on his shoulder to rouse him.

He was instantly, wildly awake, startling her, rapidly sucking in air as he jerked upward into a sitting position. Had the blankets been over him, his movements might well have jostled her to the floor. As it was she only startled backward, then pressed her hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

He looked at her wide-eyed and whispered, "They're taking them away."

_"What?"_

"And I didn't care." His eyes went wide in horror and his gaze slipped away from hers. "Why didn't I _care_?"

She realized then that he was not fully awake. She tried to comb his hair back from his face with gentle fingertips, but her touch startled him and he flinched away.

"Charlie? You — I think you were dreaming."

He blinked a few times, then looked at her again, this time recognizing her. He nodded blankly, then took another deep breath, slowly this time.

"I was," he agreed. He gave a sad, tired little laugh, then shook his head before dropping it into his hands, muttering, "Good god, these dreams."

She waited, not sure whether to touch him or not. He looked up at her and saw her uncertainty, but could not say a word. His eyes widened as he looked into hers.

She looked back in confusion, but he could not explain his strange feeling. If pressed to describe it, he might have said that he been pushed over some edge by that horrifying dream and had now fallen into her heart. _But that makes no sense_, he told himself.

"You…" he trailed off. He had been about to say to her, _You feel this, don't you. _Then he wanted to ask himself what he was on about. _You think she feels this? What exactly is 'this,' Charlie?_

But it was all too confusing, and he still couldn't figure out why he hadn't cared about any of them in the dream. _They were taking them away. All of them were children, how can a child be foul and why didn't I try to stop it _—

She tilted her head at him, her big eyes asking him _what's wrong, my man, you can tell me._

He shook his head. "Never mind."

"If you want to talk about it..." she began, venturing to comb gently through his hair with her fingers.

He shrugged, closed his eyes, eyebrows up. "Thank you," he admitted. His hands gestured his helplessness and he looked back up at her. "But I don't even know what I would say if I tried."

* * *

_tbc_


	241. Chapter 241

**a/n. There is a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. Also for having conversations with oneself inside one's own head. And for feeling emotions taking control of your body. CC is not exactly dissociating and he isn't going to, but if you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

_"If you want to talk about it..." she began, venturing to comb gently through his hair with her fingers._

_He shrugged, closed his eyes, eyebrows up. "Thank you," he admitted. His hands gestured his helplessness and he looked back up at her. "But I don't even know what I would say if I tried."_

* * *

Some mean little part of him still mouthed the words _rules are rules_ and _good riddance_. He took comfort in it. Relished it, held those words between his teeth and savored the feeling of rightness and order they gave him.

He tried to convince himself that he couldn't tell her more about the dream because he didn't know what it was.

Ah, but he knew. In some horrid, visceral way of knowing. It was the strange weeping pain behind his breastbone, the raw and bleeding emotion that had spread from there to take hold between his collarbones and below his ribs. It made taking a deep, expansive breath seem like an act of impossible courage.

Without realizing it, he made himself smaller. Shoulders forward, hollow chest, slow shallow breaths. He tried to dismiss the feeling of guilt, of being in the wrong. He knew he was right. Reason and law and tradition were on his side.

_And how does that feel, Charlie? Does it feel so good and just and pure? _He clamped down on _that_ and pressed his lips together, looking brightly at her.

"Shall we go down to dinner, then?"

He tried to ignore the pain that flickered in her eyes at that. He knew he was wrong to shut her out but it was just too much. It was all too much.

_And why the devil was it the word 'foul'?_

In the dream it had been self-evident. Now he couldn't place it, but it felt familiar. Whether that was from a dream or from waking life, he couldn't tell. He would ignore it during dinner, he told himself. All of it.

* * *

He couldn't ignore it. He went through the motions of eating, but he felt as though his heart were exposed, a foot out in front of him, and it was insane, stupid, sentimental, but all he could think was _she feels it every day._

He inhaled sharply, drawing a couple of curious glances.

_She cares for him like you do for Lady Mary._

He coughed to cover his strange behavior. "I beg your pardon."

_More, even. She cares for him more. How could she not?_

* * *

tbc...


	242. Chapter 242

**a/n. There is a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. Also for having conversations with oneself inside one's own head. And for feeling emotions taking control of your body. CC is not exactly dissociating and he isn't going to, but if you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

"I'm fine, love." He sat in bed, tracing the lines of the quilt.

"No, you're not _fine_." She counted off her arguments on her fingers. "You've barely eaten. You've been denying your headache all day— "

He looked up at her, questioning. _My headache? How did you —_

She tilted her head at him. _As if I couldn't tell after all these years._

He looked resigned. _You've caught me._

"And I know you haven't been sleeping well."

"I've been waking you." His tone was irritatingly apologetic.

She closed her eyes and spoke slowly and quietly. "That isn't what I mean."

He knew that, but his misplaced concern was sincere. He sighed and went back to tracing the quilt.

"I've... I've been having some strange dreams."

Inside he was shouting at himself to_ stop it, shut your mouth, this is not safe, you're going to fall from these great misbegotten moral heights of yours and you'll be lost, mate, so just shut your mouth and duck your head and pretend you agree_.

* * *

_Foul. Foul. Where did that come from?_

He stared at the ceiling, vaguely grateful for the weight of his own hands on his chest.

She hadn't pressed him for details. He'd felt horrible for pushing her away, and stupid for letting a few dreams get to him.

No, that wasn't right. He felt _devastated_ by the dreams. He... _felt_ in the dreams, more profoundly than he could otherwise. With the exception of that last one, where he'd triumphantly felt nothing. He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to wake her after she'd finally fallen asleep curled toward him. Her open hand lying on the pillow was an invitation he made himself ignore.

Faint silver light, her hair soft around her, her face looking sad at rest. He saw something wet sparkle on her eyelashes and cursed himself for it, but didn't dare take her hand.

His gaze went back to the ceiling. Then to the frosty window. He tried to take a deep breath, but it stalled in the middle from that raw feeling squeezing his chest. He turned away from her, moving slowly as if the bed were still loud. He was desperate to avoid waking her, talking to her, confessing this change in himself that he didn't yet understand, let alone accept.

_Why 'foul'?_

And at last, the memory fell into place. Years ago. A dignified reply from a man who'd stood to lose everything.

_'I am not like you, but I am not foul.'_

He flinched, remembering the cruel things he'd said. Then he frowned, eyes wide as he tried to reject the word 'cruel' and replace it with 'right' and 'normal' and 'well-deserved.'

Sudden, overwhelming fatigue made his body feel both heavy and weightless and as he grew sleepy, his mind was filled with images of those children being led away. _Lady Mary and Miss Sybbie, and was Lady Sybil there too? What about Daisy?_ The question disappeared from his mind as he fell asleep.

* * *

_tbc_


	243. Chapter 243

**a/n. There is a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. If you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

It wasn't her intent to spy on him, exactly, but the way he'd paused while laying the table made her feel as if she were doing just that. She watched as his hand lingered at the base of the glass he'd just set down. Then he gave a bit of a start and quickly set out the rest of them. She disappeared into the kitchen before he could turn to see her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Andra's voice startled her, low as it was.

She sighed and went back to stirring the stew. "I don't know." Then she looked up at her sister. "The trouble is, _he_ won't talk to _m_— " She stopped short and pressed her lips together; she could hear his steps approaching the dining room.

His booming voice was too bright. "I — oh! Ah, never mind, I just remembered where it is." He left as quickly as he'd entered and neither one of the women was sure what he was after or whether he'd even been looking for something.

They looked at each other, Elsie's expression exasperated even as she tried to blink away tears.

"I see," Andra murmured. "Maybe just… give him a wee bit more time? You remember how Jack was."

"Jack," Elsie whispered, a bitter half-laugh. "That was so much easier."

"For _you_ it was. You weren't even here."

"But —"

Andra pursed her lips, agreeing somewhat. "Aye, he was younger and he had more time with them. But it wasn't easy."

_"He_ never threatened to go to the police," Elsie whispered.

"No. He didn't. But _neither did your Charlie_," Andra reminded her.

She furrowed her brow, opened her mouth to disagree, and remembered. _No, no he didn't. He wrote _— _well, he wrote what he wrote, but that's gone now and he truly didn't want me to see it._

Of course he hadn't wanted anyone to see it. And she began to realize that _no one_ was supposed to see that. That it was perhaps the worst, meanest possible version of his thoughts and he'd wanted to keep it hidden for her sake. Or for all of their sake. Or for his own. She couldn't tell.

"I just wish he would talk to me," she whispered.

"He's never been one to reveal his secrets easily, has he," Andra remarked.

She had to laugh a bit at that — it was just a huff of air that escaped her, but it was something. "_No_, he certainly hasn't."

"But he's always had _you_ to help him along, hmm?"

"Yes! So why he won't talk to me —"

"Have you told him anything? Shared things with him? I mean, beyond, you know —"

She hesitated. "I did tell him about the elephant trunk. How it was broken."

"Oh my lord. I couldn't go out to the bench for ages after that, I was so afraid!"

"Poor wee lassie," Elsie agreed. Then she brightened: "Oh! We gave it a snout."

"_What?_" Andra had no idea what she was on about.

"Remember? After, when Da said we should give it a boar's —"

Andra's mouth fell open in delight. "You _didn't!_"

She laughed a little. "We did. He did it himself."

"That's… that's lovely, Els. Do you think..." Andra bit her lip. "Maybe he needs... more stories?"

"Och, I don't know." Elsie sounded miserable again. "I don't think he wants that. He's just — " Tears began to well in her eyes.

"Come on," Andra said, opening her arms to her sister.

"Thank you," Elsie whispered, letting her sister hold her as she stifled her tears. She would _not_ break down with him just out there laying the table.

* * *

_Snow crunches underfoot. It's been a long time since she's felt that. Cold. A pine forest, nondescript grey weather. Hills and valleys. She's trying to catch up to him but he keeps going. Then he stops and she tries to get to his face, to talk with him. No matter what side she stands on, there is only his back._

_She calls to him._

_"Cheerful! Cheerful?" She says it dozens of times, but he never turns to her._

* * *

She woke up and saw his back in the weak light.

"Oh god," she whispered, overwhelmed by her dream, then choked on a sob as the dream's desperate ache carried over into waking life. Not that the feeling was new. No, it had been building over the past few days. _Weeks,_ more like. As he kept pushing her away, she felt as if the threads that connected them were snapping, one by one.

She stifled a bitter chuckle at the absurd image of him with a tiny pair of scissors, and those invisible threads snapping back in her face.

Then she gasped — she'd called him 'Cheerful.' How absurd.

_For heaven's sake, that's not even a name. It's as though you didn't even know him._

* * *

Although he didn't know it, it was to his advantage that she'd covered her face to weep, because she couldn't see the tension that had taken hold of his body. Should he turn around and comfort her? He didn't want to startle her, nor did he want to intrude on her private pain.

_Coward_, he told himself.

* * *

_tbc..._


	244. Chapter 244

**a/n. There is a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. If you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

_A fleeting image of Duncan in livery and white gloves, offering 'a tour of my revolting world' without a trace of malice or irony. He is unnervingly cheerful and too deferential, but the voice and accent are intermittently right. Then his hair goes dark — Barrow? — and tears drain the color of his eyes from blue to sickly yellow-grey. And he is led away again, this time in shackles._

_Suddenly it's the village, where the remaining adults carry on — as they all must. They look past him because he refused to save their children, but they cannot accuse him, for what he did was legal and right._

_Rules are rules,' goes the silent chant, over and over. 'Rules are rules. Good riddance.'_

_The holes are three inches wide (somehow he knows this; they are precisely three inches in diameter and they go straight through the torso). Some of the adults have only one; some have several — one for each child who was taken away, all while he nodded his approval. _

_They try to hide those strange bloodless wounds with clothing, scarves, patches, yet somehow they are always visible. But their clothing is beautiful, all of it festive, because they aren't allowed to mourn. _

_'Rules are rules. Good riddance.' The words parade unbidden through his mind._

_He's in some kind of fairytale glass coffin, big enough for him to stand and walk and rage at himself. They go about their business, unable to see or hear him. _

_He's close to the churchyard and one of those stones is his; the pain in his chest is not what he thought it was — and now he knows for certain that he's missed his last chance to make it right._

* * *

During the night they must have grown cold or lonely or both, because now they lay sleeping, his chest flush against her back. His one arm lay around her middle, the other under her pillow. Her hand covered his; their fingers were laced together.

_She approaches his glass prison and he tries to get her attention. He shouts; he bangs on the glass. She looks right through him._

He jerked awake with a deep, terrified inhalation. His hand held hers in a sudden crushing grip; his arms had gone too tight around her ribcage and she woke in a panic as he squeezed the air from her lungs.

He was tangled up in sheets and blankets, deep in his own panic because he was losing her, or maybe she'd lost him; he had no idea where he was and _why was she struggling out of his embrace?_

Horrified, he let go immediately. He took a stuttering, sobbing breath, and then the feeling he'd been fighting to contain behind his breastbone was pouring out of him in tears and incoherent speech.

"They weren't," he wept, "they were gonehearts, they were nohearted, not mourning and, but I didn't save them, I —"

"_What?_" She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Her heart was still pounding and she could not fathom the nonsense he was spouting.

He was holding her at arm's length, still babbling, "I was _gone_, or they were, but it was riddance —"

Her panic subsided as she began to catch her breath —

"...to talk to you, but it's too late, and they were all missing pieces of themselves..."

— but he sounded _insane _and that was beginning to frighten her. Gathering her courage, she took a firm hold of his shoulders and shook him, once.

"Mr Carson, _wake up!_"

He froze, breathing heavily and staring at her. That last bit about missing pieces had felt truer than anything he'd said in weeks, but he had no idea how to articulate _that_. He blinked a few times and passed a hand over his face.

"Good god, I'm not making sense."

She shook her head, staring at him, and when he wouldn't meet her eyes, she sighed and lay down, pulling at him.

"Come here now, love, come on."

He shook as she pulled him against her, pressing his head to her chest. His arms quickly, desperately wrapped around her body. She kissed the top of his head and held him, one hand in his hair and the other arm tight around his shoulders. His hot tears soaked through her nightgown. She felt his heaving sobs, his body curled against hers, and gave in to the sobbing that she'd kept locked away.

* * *

_tbc_


	245. Chapter 245

**a/n. There is still, _somewhat_, a trigger warning here for nightmares feeling real and messing with one's sense of reality. If you have issues with that kind of thing, this chapter might be triggering.**

* * *

_She shook her head, staring at him, and when he wouldn't meet her eyes, she sighed and lay down, pulling at him._

_"Come here now, love, come on."_

_He shook as she pulled him against her, pressing his head to her chest. His arms quickly, desperately wrapped around her body. She kissed the top of his head and held him, one hand in his hair and the other arm tight around his shoulders. His hot tears soaked through her nightgown. She felt his heaving sobs, his body curled against hers, and gave in to the sobbing that she'd kept locked away._

* * *

Their bodies clashed together, limbs knocking against one another, everything clenching and heaving in the chaos of their grief.

She would have pressed her lips to his head again if she could. Instead she pressed his head to her breastbone with her forearm, using her hand to cover her sob _— _a silent, hitching scream. Her tears came forced through tightly-shut eyelids and ended up god only knew where _—_ the pillow, his hair, his pajama top. Her other hand lost its grip on his shoulder and scrambled to find purchase there again.

They held each other so tightly it seemed they must soon cease to be two separate people but become one another, truly one flesh despite the nightgown and pajamas that separated them. The thought quickly left her mind as the weight of his head (finally, sweet painful relief) forced out a wave of emotion for which she had no name. _There are too many,_ she thought vaguely through the flood. Grief, anger, panic, and a loud confusion of others, and lingering at the edges, a thin strand of hope (trembling, frightened) that she tried to ignore for fear he might quell it.

His lips moved as if in prayer as he held his breath, his body fraught with panic and the persistent desolation from that horrifying dream. He mouthed a silent litany of "I'm so sorry" that she might have been able to feel through her nightgown, had she not been wracked with the force of her own grief.

Almost together they paused to gasp for air, then collapsed into one another again. Loose shuddering breaths gave way to more silent, desperate, endless sobbing. It was the kind of full-bodied sobbing that dredges up fresh sources of pain with each breath. And soon he was no longer weeping for himself and his dreams, but for _her __—_ and then suddenly for _them._

For _Duncan and Nicholas_. And he had to tell her somehow, make her understand that he was sorry, he was so sorry for all they'd been through. He didn't _know_ what they'd been through; he had only snippets of stories and he wanted more. He wanted to understand. Desperately, he needed stories like seedlings to plant in his hollowed-out heart, tilled and bloodied by the horror of his dreams that now he thought he might understand. His heart had been broken open and it was ready and dear _god,_ he hoped those two would trust the change in him enough to let him be kind, because if they rejected him now he thought it would well and truly break him.

She could feel his sobs slowing and she released his head. He looked up at her, both of them still shaking with wordless grief. While he gave the impression of being calm, it was really the combination of the exhaustion they both shared and his new, desperate sense of purpose. He would make it right. Starting tonight, by taking the time to comfort _her_.

The wind was whipping rain against the window, as they only now (and only vaguely) noticed. Decades of practice keeping their emotions quiet served them well; they could shake and cry and hurt without their voices ever making a sound. This in combination with the storm ensured their privacy so that they could break open, then clean the wound and begin to stitch it up together.

The word "forgiven" trudged through his mind but he rejected it, certain that he hadn't earned it. Not yet.

He looked up at her. Caressed her face, his thumb between her eyes, down her nose, to her lips and off them again too quickly for it to seem like a demand for a kiss. He took her face in his hands and wiped her tears away. His expression was mild, loving, gentle; and this drew more tears from her. She didn't want to be crying anymore, but the attempt to stop in embarrassment made it impossible and so more tears flowed down her cheeks, faster than he could catch them. Instead he decided to try to hold her, let her cry into his shirt.

"Lie down with me?" His voice, soft and broken.

She nodded, a small sob escaping, and now he tucked her head under his chin and gathered her in his arms, letting her lie as she wished, which was with her arms folded up protectively in front of her breastbone. She cried hard on his chest, where the warm, solid reality of her pressed against him triggered his tears again, much like the weight of his head on her chest had done for her. He put his arms around her again, weeping unabashedly with the release they'd both so desperately needed.

Neither one knew who fell asleep first but soon they were both sleeping deeply, wrapped up warmly together with tears still drying on their faces.

* * *

_tbc_


	246. Chapter 246

_Neither one knew who fell asleep first but soon they were both sleeping deeply, wrapped up warmly together with tears still drying on their faces._

* * *

His eyes snapped open in the darkness.

Anxiety rushed through him: _oh lord, that dream, oh no _— _oh dear god, I practically crushed the __life_ _out of her _—

He hadn't moved, but now he deliberately held still, eyes unblinking, breath hovering as he listened for hers.

He could _feel_ it, slow and even. He closed his eyes — _she's alive she's with me she still wants to be here._ He told himself it was absurd to be so relieved, but the feeling was so powerful that it pained him.

She was soft and warm and sweet with her back against his chest and her hand over his. He didn't dare hold her closer, as much as he wanted to. But the scent of her hair and of her skin was like a soothing drug.

He felt lighter than he had in days. He took a deep breath — and stopped halfway, quietly hissing in pain. His ribs were sore. He stretched his limbs a little and found that his whole _body_ was sore. At least the strange pain in his chest was gone for the moment...

He remembered her weeping, pressed against his heart.

_Ready for seedlings. Water it with tears_ —

As he wondered where on earth had _that_ come from, another strange thought flew through his mind — _salt water is bad for plants. _He rolled his eyes at himself.

Then suddenly it was the gripping fear of _will they trust me will they believe me how do I do this? _He felt so hollowed out that the adrenaline seemed to pour through every part of his body. Had he been able to think of anything but those baffling questions, he might have mused that it felt like alcohol on an empty stomach.

He sighed and she hummed in her sleep, nestling even closer to him. He froze again, hoping he hadn't disturbed her, then relaxed.

_Ask her_, he told himself. _For god's sake, let her in. _He had to do it, but he didn't know how.

Soon his thoughts faded and he fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

She blinked awake in the weak early light.

The room was chilly, the warmth between their bodies precious. She burrowed deeper under the covers to warm her nose. The movement made her gasp in pain: her body _hurt_ and for a moment she didn't know why, but it was so damned good to feel his chest against her back again—

_Oh._

_Oh my_.

Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the night before. She bit her lip, gathering her courage, then turned in his arms. As anxious as it made her, she was still eager to see his face.

Oh good _lord_, but her arms hurt too. She remembered holding him, weeping, and she found that her head hurt too; _everything_ hurt. But there he was, his arm still heavy on her, his lips in a slight pout as he slept on.

She touched his face and he blinked awake, giving her a small, sleepy smile. Then he gasped and his eyes went wide. He looked terrified. She pulled her hand away, startled fingers curling toward her palm.

His hand lingered on her waist and he had to clear his throat before speaking. "Are you alright?"

"Am _I_ alright." She gave a tiny laugh, ducked her head, and shook her head. She looked up at him again, big eyes imploring. "I don't know. I suppose I am, or will be… but what about _you_?"

He opened his mouth to deny everything. But his heart clenched at the thought and he closed his mouth, then took a breath. He flinched at the pain in his ribs and then looked back at her, seeing her eyes fill with tears.

"No," he forced himself to say, "I'm not alright."

Tears slid down her cheeks as she closed her eyes in relief.

He took her hand then, daring to press it against his chest at the pain that was growing there again. And he let out his tears, whispering to her.

"I'm so sorry."

She watched him cover his face with his other hand.

"I'm sorry, Elsie, I'm so sorry."

It was such a relief to hear it. She wanted to give him a response, but didn't know what to say.

He looked up. Her expression of kindness was too much to bear, and so he finally did wrap his arms tightly around her. She went willingly, even with one arm trapped between them. She wrapped her other arm around him and he pressed desperate kisses to her forehead.

After a few moments they relaxed. He didn't like the fact that it was easier to speak without her eyes on his, but he accepted it for now.

"I don't know where to start." His voice rumbling through her again was a relief in itself.

"That's alright." He voice was muffled against his chest. "Start anywhere."

He chuckled weakly.

"I was wondering if you might … tell me more about Duncan?" He flinched, chiding himself for asking too much, but then looked up and was shocked to find that she was nodding, her eyes shining.

"I mean to say," he stumbled, "I think maybe I ought to be telling you something... that is, if — if you still want me to?"

"Please, yes," she gasped, unable to hold back her tears — or her brilliant smile. She tried to contain it when she saw his troubled expression.

"I've been having dreams… horrible dreams."

* * *

_tbc_


	247. Chapter 247

He handed her his diary, open to the page where he'd written about the first dream. She read it, then sat for a moment with a furrowed brow.

"I'm not sure I understand," she said softly, her hand resting on the open page as she looked up at him. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once because his attempt at a curt, clinical 'report' in his diary had resulted in an unreadable narrative.

"May I?" he asked softly, reaching toward the book.

"Oh — yes, of course."

She handed it back and he did his best to recount the dream, stumbling at times and blushing as he described the bedroom scene at the beginning.

As he told her the rest of the dreams, he struggled between chronology and accuracy. Important details from one dream would come back during the telling of another, and he had to pause and explain it. More than once he gestured in frustration, then dropped his hands into his lap with a huff.

He was strangely calm as he told her the worst parts. Other things brought unexpected tears to his eyes. She very gently wiped them away, then retreated, her hand on his knee the only contact between them.

She occasionally pressed his knee as he talked — a reassuring gesture. Other times she hummed to let him know she was listening, or gasped sympathetically in shock. Other than that, she made no comment. The uncontrolled expressions of her face said much more, shifting between horror, confusion, and compassion.

The last thing he told her was the bit about his heart being 'tilled.' He sounded more tentative than he felt about that image. For him, its meaning was clearly established. He hesitated only because he was unsure of her response to something so outlandish.

She was silent; for a moment he didn't dare look up at her. He traced patterns in the quilt and steeled himself, took a shaking breath, and met her eyes. Which were brimming with tears.

Overwhelmed at finding love where he'd half-expected condemnation _(you_ _didn't care rules are rules good riddance_) or scorn (_your tilled heart what is this nonsense have you lost your mind_), he took a relieved breath. He felt his back straighten and his shoulders relax.

Noticing the change in his posture, she laid her hand on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling at him through her tears.

"Thank you for telling me."

Unable to speak, he nodded instead, blinking and swallowing hard as he tried to keep his tears at bay. His hand paused in the air for only an instant before he laid it over hers.

They sat that way for a while before sinking back into the pillows.

She was lying on her back with his head on her shoulder, her arm around him, and her other hand lightly combing through his hair. His one arm was slung around her waist while the other lay trapped between them. Not that he minded; he was glad to be so close to her.

She lay thinking for a minute, trying to absorb the fact that he'd had this change of heart. How they were going to deal with it in future, well... that remained to be seen.

"Will you help me?" he asked quietly, as if he'd read her mind.

"Hmm?"

He was grateful that she hadn't stopped the soothing movements of her fingers in his hair.

"I ... I'm afraid I don't know how to act around them. To convince them, you see."

"Oh, my love. Of course I'll help you."

He could both hear and feel her voice and it made him smile. For a moment she held him more tightly and he returned the embrace, kissing the crook of her neck.

"Would you like me to talk to them first?"

"Er ... maybe? I don't know. That rather makes me seem like a child, don't you think?" After a tiny pause, he gave a bittersweet little laugh, remembering. "Andra said I was acting like a child. She was right, I suppose..."

She pressed her lips together, irritated and torn between loyalties — and then in an instant all was clear.

"Don't worry about that now," she told him gently. "That's all finished." She pulled back to look at him, suddenly unsure. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," he insisted, looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes. His heart clenched at the thought that she would doubt him now.

She hugged him close again. "I don't know how to tell you just how relieved I am."

As a jumble of emotions from all four dreams crowded his mind, he thought he might understand, and he told her so.

The tension in her body had gathered so gradually and steadily that neither had noticed it, but now they both felt it leave.

"I believe you," she told him.

"Thank god," he mumbled, then "thank _you_."

They lay in silence then, letting sleep take over their limbs. They had been asleep for at least twenty minutes when the bedroom door opened very quietly and a pair of cold little feet carried their curly-headed owner over to their bed.

* * *

_tbc_...


	248. Chapter 248

"Auntie Elsie!" Betsy's exaggerated whisper got Elsie's attention and she turned her head with a sleepy smile. Her chin rested atop Charlie's head as she opened her eyes.

Seeing that her auntie was awake, Betsy spoke at full volume in a tone of disbelief and childish scorn that made Elsie's body tense with laughter.

"Why are you _cuddling_ Uncle Charlie?"

Betsy's voice and Elsie's movement made Charlie startle awake in confusion. He'd been dreaming some odd little story about a handbag full of biscuits and the voice seemed to have come straight from the dream.

Elsie hummed and gave him a squeeze. Then she kissed his forehead and rested her chin on his head again to smile at Betsy.

"Because I love him," she told them both, her tone somehow soft and bright all at once.

"But he's too _big_ to cuddle."

Elsie gave a little breath of laughter. "No he isn't, see?" She lifted her hands from him as if to show that yes, even a giant could indeed be cuddled.

Betsy ignored this as she climbed up on the bed and over Charlie, whose body shook with suppressed laughter at this tiny thing clambering over him like a mountaineer.

When she got to the other side, she brought her face close to his and asked him seriously , "Are you 'not too big to cuddle'?" She sounded curious, not skeptical.

His brow furrowed helplessly and he gave a short little laugh, then suddenly remembered that this delightfully silly child had been among those taken away in those horrid dreams. He sent up a prayer of thanks for the difference between dream and reality. And then realized she'd asked him a question.

It took only a moment before he replied, but Betsy saw his expression flash from a toothy grin to sorrow to gentle mischief. With round eyes she gave him a little concerned frown that soon dissolved into her own grin as he spoke.

"Well," he intoned, raising one prodigious eyebrow. She stared at that eyebrow and he went on, "your auntie Elsie has a magical ability to cuddle anybody she wants to. Even great lumbering beasts like me." The last bit he delivered in Elsie's accent, and Betsy giggled.

He was surprised at his own sudden, if temporary, ability to leave behind the worries that had battered his mind. Something about talking with a small child made it possible.

That, and the enormous relief of laying it all at her feet.

* * *

"Well, you don't have to make any grand gestures over breakfast," she assured him.

"No," he said quietly. No, of course not. And certainly not in front of the children."

Her fingers stilled on the buttons of her dress as she turned to stare at him. He looked back, his eyes vulnerable and questioning. She looked like she might be angry, so he hurried to explain.

"I — I mean," he stammered, "because they might talk. Like you said...?"

She went to him, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him. The kiss was sweet and full and it left them both just slightly breathless as she pulled away to let her forehead rest against his.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He knew exactly what she meant: _Thank you for this change in your heart thank you for understanding_.

* * *

Everyone noticed a change in Charlie at breakfast, but they couldn't quite have named it if they'd tried.

It was strange, as if some sharp edge had been removed, disapproval replaced by... Sorrow? Timidity? Gentleness, certainly. The haughty set to his face was gone. So was the coldness in his eyes. In its place was something unfamiliar: an unspoken question, a pleading _something_ that threw Duncan a bit off-balance. Nicholas, too. Neither of them could place it. It was preferable by far to what had been there before, but nonetheless it made them a little uneasy.

Andra had some idea of what it might mean. Jack _knew_ what it was, but unless they wanted his help, he wasn't about to meddle.

* * *

"What do you mean, he's 'changed'?"

"He's —" She bit her lip and watched her fingers drumming on the elephant's newly-made boar snout. Then she swung her gaze back up to Duncan. "D'you remember how Jack was? And then when he finally came round?"

Duncan frowned. "Yes, and it took over a year_._ Now you want me to believe that by some miracle, your man has had a profound change of heart in a matter of _weeks?"_

"He's had some te—" She stopped herself before she could say_ terrible dreams_. She hadn't asked Charlie whether she could tell Duncan about that.

"He's had some what?" he prompted her, sounding more than a little skeptical.

"Some... Time to think." She looked away, out over the loch.

Duncan sighed.

"I know you don't trust him," she said, still staring at all that stark, cold beauty. "And I understand why."

She knew full well Duncan's reasons, but at the moment that just made her feel more tired.

* * *

_tbc..._


	249. Chapter 249

**This one has a trigger warning: discussion of an isolated event of physical child abuse (non-sexual).  
Also a disclaimer: I don't share Elsie's nonchalance about "earning a smack." (I don't really think *****_earning*_**** a smack is possible. Especially not as a child!)**

**Now, on with it:**

* * *

She had no desire to arbitrate between her husband and her brother. _And his husb—_

No. Even though she'd thought of Nick that way for years, it was only in the back of her mind. She would never, ever say it out loud. The stakes were too high; the consequences of saying it in the wrong company would be devastating. She didn't even let herself think the word. Much.

Anyway, she knew better than to try to force them into a friendship. She just hoped she could somehow smooth the way for them. Anything more would be both unsuccessful and exhausting.

_...Mostly_, she thought. Mostly she knew better. Sometimes she just wanted to throw them at each other and make them discuss cricket, or Margaux, or _cufflinks,_ for heaven's sake_. Anything._

* * *

Charlie and Elsie wrapped up warmly and set out from the house, walking without an aim. They'd already reached the loch by the time he worked up the courage to ask her how she'd found out about Duncan.

"Ohh," she began. This was an old, old story but that didn't make the telling of it easier. Rusty thoughts refused to fall into order, but she somehow managed to choose a place to start.

"I suppose I began to understand that there was something different about him... the day he came back to the house with a bruise on his face."

She spoke haltingly, her voice so soft it seemed to blend in with the gentle waves of the water. He had to step in closer to hear her.

"From the village boys?" he asked quietly.

She sighed, the memories giving her almost physical pain. "No, not that time. Not yet. He was only about nine years old, and — and..."

She took a deep breath and surprised herself by saying her next words out loud.

"I've never told this story before." Her eyes met his.

He inhaled sharply, his heart breaking for her. But now she was shaking her head; she could see he'd misunderstood her.

"It isn't exactly a secret in our family. Andra knows; Glenna knew. Jack... probably knows. Only, I've never been the one telling it."

His thoughts snagged on the phrase '_our family.'_ A vague memory flashed up _— 'They're not our family.'_ Her response to his sentimentality, or maybe his misplaced loyalties. A dozen years later and finally he understood that conversation. He wanted to slap his forehead.

_Family_, he thought. ..._this__ is family._

But he was getting distracted and she needed him here. He took her hands and kissed them, then waited for her to speak. She gave his hands a squeeze, appreciating their warm weight anchoring her to the present.

"He came back and there was blood at the corner of his mouth, I remember —"

Her voice caught in her throat and then even she was surprised as the rest came out all in a rush.

"He was just a wee thing, Mr Carson. _Nine years old!_" She wiped her eyes, shaking her head, then spoke as if to herself. "I couldn't see how young he was then because I was just as little."

Her desperate whisper broke apart, escaping her control.

"But sometimes, to me, he's still that wee laddie with a hurt face, wondering why his daddy hit him for — for—"

She stopped. As she shook her head, her face showed her incredulous pain at the _stupidity_ of it all. Then she took a deep breath and looked at Charlie. Her voice took on a strange calm as she went on.

"He'd caught him holding hands in the barn with the boy from the next farm over. It was the only time he ever hit any of us — I mean, we earned ourselves a smack here and there, but this was different. We were never afraid of him, you see; he was a kind man, _really_. But that day, he — Duncan, I mean — he was terrified. And he got back up to the house, just to the front door and he waited outside. I saw him through the window and wondered what was happening, but he'd already turned around when I got to the door. When I asked him what had happened, he just... started walking away. He went so fast I could hardly keep up with him."

She gave a sad little laugh. "We were about the same size then, if you can believe it. He didn't turn into that beanpole until later."

Charlie smiled slightly, his mouth closed but his eyes kind.

"So we hurried along with me calling after him. He wouldn't stop. He was crying the whole way, and when I started to run to catch up, he ran too. Eventually he slowed down and let me walk beside him. But — " Suddenly she clasped her hands tightly together, looking miserable and not meeting his eyes. "You don't want to hear all of _this_."

He shook his head and grasped her arms, gently but urgently. "No, I do want to hear it. I do."

She bit her lips together, trying to believe him. Then she inhaled and told him the rest. They'd gone down to the loch. It was just about the same spot where they stood now, actually, she told him with a sad little laugh. And Duncan told her he wanted to marry that boy. In her confusion she'd said something awful; she must've heard it in church. It made him cry more, and soon she'd cried too, and then she'd dipped the hem of her skirt in the icy water and gently held it to his swollen cheek.

"He flinched," she laughed bitterly. "Poor thing, before I touched him he started to shy away from my hand. Just for a second, mind."

She pressed her lips together. This was coming out all jumbled.

"I should tell you that although we were best friends, we still did our share of fighting with each other. It was silly stuff, the things brothers and sisters do. But he _never_ flinched. And you can be sure he never looked afraid. But that day..."

She trailed off, shaking her head.

With his eyes full of pain, he opened his arms to her, she stepped toward him, and he gathered her close, resting his chin on her head.

"I don't know what else to tell you about it." Her muffled voice sounded both heartbroken and exhausted.

"No," he murmured, anxious to relieve her suffering but unsure what to say. "It's alright. Thank you for telling me." As he spoke, a few thoughts clicked into place and he surprised himself by venturing to speak them aloud.

"You went from the church to your heart in the span of ...an hour?"

He had a tone of wonder, but his words made no sense to her. She furrowed her brow, trying to decipher what he'd said. Of course, it _might_ mean... But no, she couldn't be sure.

She looked up at him. "What d'you mean?"

He blinked.

_Good god, her eyes are so beautiful._

Beautiful... and unnerving, focused on him like that as he fumbled some more with the phrases "sense of order" and "the rules are cruel" (the rhyme made him cringe). Eventually he managed to convey the idea that she'd traded strict rules for a loving heart. She began to understand that he saw it as a sped-up version of his own transformation.

She opened her mouth to protest — _you could never understand, he's my brother, I've always loved him and you were so cruel and you'll never know what it is to love like that and to fear loss and_ —

She closed her mouth. Took a deep breath._ Those dreams of his, _she thought. _G__ood god, they've done what no amount of waking argument could do. _

When she finally spoke, she sounded bewildered.

"I... suppose I did."

* * *

_tbc_...


	250. Chapter 250

**no warnings here, i think... just goobers being goobers.**

* * *

"Well, he was a _bit_ odd at dinner," Nicholas muttered as he buttoned up his pajama top.

Duncan scoffed, "I'll say."

"You don't trust it." It was half-question, half-observation.

"Do you?"

Duncan's severe raised eyebrow might have made Nicholas grin if he'd been looking, but he was turning down the bedcovers.

Nicholas sighed, feeling tired. "I don't know."

"Elsie said he's had some 'time to think,' but there's something she wasn't telling me."

Nicholas hummed at this as he climbed into bed.

Duncan was staring out the window, thinking, his arms crossed over his chest. To anyone else he might have looked frightening with that icy glare, but the sight of him there in that pose with his wiry frame and mussed hair made Nicholas's heart clench, just a little.

_Adorable man,_ he thought, sending up a prayer of thanks for requited love — and for every single quirk of fate and stroke of good luck that had allowed them to come this far unharmed. _Mostly_.

"Come to bed, Dunnie, before you glare a hole right through that window."

Duncan snorted and turned toward him with a wrinkled-nose smile. "That would be a bit drafty, wouldn't it?"

Nick grinned. "Come on, then."

* * *

"Yes, you were right when you thought that," Elsie said softly, her head on his shoulder and her hand tangled with his on his chest. "They are indeed terribly sad."

He was off rambling before she could add that they'd found some measure of happiness. _Quite a lot of it, really, considering._

"I wish I could fix it. I just... I know, I didn't see that little boy with the hurt face, but I can't stop thinking about it. I want to protect him. Them. I... Both of them." He paused. _I want to protect that little boy and tell him he'll find love. It's madness. The pendulum has swung way over to the other side but there's no way to say __that_ _without sounding like a lunatic._

"I don't know how to act around them."

"Oh, Charlie..." She wasn't sure what to say next, so there was a bit of a pause. "I want to protect them too, but you can't _make_ them happier; you can't fix decades of ... of impossibility, I suppose one could call it."

"I know." He felt like a fool, and he extracted his hand from hers to cover his eyes. "It's stupid."

Her hand felt cold without his touch. "No, Charlie. It's just... You can't change it, the way they've had to live." She laughed sadly, just one little breath of it. "Heaven knows I've wished life were easier for them … and for those like them."

* * *

He looked at them too much, with sadness and longing in his eyes. He knew it; they knew it.

_Longing_, he asked himself, _why on __earth__...?_

He wanted to know everything about them, but he was afraid to ask anything. He admonished himself, comparing this feeling to an unsavory thirst for gossip, but in the same breath he knew it wasn't that.

It was as if they were heroes back from the war, _and_ literary giants, _and_ the bloody Crown Prince all rolled into one. He felt in awe of them because of the suffering they'd endured. And he felt like an idiot for it, because they were his family now and he ought to be able to have a normal conversation with them.

And on top of everything else, he felt he'd wronged them. In the silence of his own mind, he certainly had. But no one else had heard the nastiest of his thoughts. The internal voice that had mocked Duncan, thinking he hadn't had the stomach for farming. What a joke _that_ had been.

And so he walked through his days with silent accusations ringing in his head. It made talking with them intensely awkward. And he knew he could never make it right because he couldn't bear to confess the cruel thoughts he'd entertained.

* * *

_tbc_

* * *

_many many many thanks for your comments! xoxox_


	251. Chapter 251

"I wouldn't have bothered you, but Elsie suggested it. She thought maybe you wouldn't mind..."

Charlie trailed off. Gravel crunched underfoot as he and Jack walked along the road toward the village.

"I see. Well, I understand you've had a recent change of heart."

He stopped and looked at Jack, flabbergasted and practically stuttering. "How — how did you know?"

Jack gave a small smile in return and they kept walking. "I've been through it myself, mate."

"You've been… you mean, about Duncan?"

"Aye."

"I see," was all Charlie could come up with. He felt a little silly echoing what Jack had just said, but there was nothing for it now. Crazily, he imagined words as tangible as the white frost of their breath and pictured retrieving them, catching them in a bottle and drinking them back in. He wished he could do the same with the venomous thoughts he'd had. Make them disappear, make them unthought.

Ah, but he was miles away — and he blinked rapidly, trying to catch up with what Jack was saying.

"... did think it was terrible, not to mention wrong of the family to support it. But as I got to know them a bit better, I started to think of them as my friends. Then when Andra and I married, they were my brothers." He paused, taking a second to grin at Charlie, who didn't see it.

"But I suppose you've done that in reverse, haven't you."

_...oh._

_Oh goodness._

_Yes —_

"You're right," Charlie managed quietly.

"And I know you certainly _didn't_ approve, but it seems something's happened to you. You were unwell; we could all see that." Quickly, he added, "I don't need to know what happened if you don't want to t—"

"Nightmares," Charlie blurted, surprised at his own candor.

Jack's breath caught. "Oh."

"Horrid things, but I'd rather let it lie if that's alright with you."

Jack was surprised and dismayed. He paused, then said flatly, "I see."

Charlie winced.

"I beg your pardon."

"Not at all," Jack said stiffly.

They walked on, their hands in their pockets and before long, they'd reached the village. Silence stretched out taut between them as they visited the shops Jack needed.

When they'd set out on the road again, Charlie looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before he spoke.

"I think... I need to explain something," he ventured. Jack looked at him coolly. He cleared his throat and spoke carefully. "Earlier, when I said I want to let it lie, I'm afraid I was unclear."

Jack looked at him, raising his eyebrows but otherwise expressionless.

Charlie pressed on.

"I would like to ask you a few things, if I may. Only, I didn't want to discuss the nightmares in any detail."

Jack inhaled deeply, feeling relieved. He didn't want to be angry with Charlie; he liked the man. And he knew more or less what he was going through. He'd like to help — if such a thing were possible.

"It's quite alright," he responded, more warmly than before. "What would ye like to know, then?"

"It's silly, but did you ever feel... tongue-tied with them?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I..." _Damn it_. This was difficult. _Tongue tied indeed._

Mercifully, Jack stopped him. "Never mind. I think I know. And the short answer is yes. I did, for a time. It was after I'd come to think it wasn't so wrong. I felt terrible for the things I'd said, and the things I hadn't _said_ but only thought. And I never knew what to say to either one of them. Nick and Duncan, I mean."

Charlie gasped, his eyes lit up, and he nodded quickly. Hearing his own nebulous thoughts put to words was a relief beyond anything he'd imagined.

* * *

_tbc..._

* * *

_many thanks for your reviews!_

_yes, poor charlie. he's so awkward. he's, like, fangirling over duncan and nicky and it's making everyone rillll uncomfortable. what a goober, and i say that with love.  
(darling man, and we all love him, but damn it was satisfying to read a review that finally said 'poor duncan!' - YES. poor duncan. and nick. charlie... charlie is gonna be just fine. charlie isn't the one whose life is in danger if his love is made public. ach ffs etc. but yeah... charlie had to suffer in some majorly fckt-up dreams in order for that change of heart to happen fast. they don't have years and years to get acquainted. so this is the aftermath of those horrid dreams: total fangirling. charlie carson with a nonsexual doublecrush. awkward penguinman. picture him in the proposal scene but without any familiar experience on which he could have pinned those feels. aaawwwkward! tug your waistcoat, mister c!)_


	252. Chapter 252

**Sorry for the delay; I've had this ready to go for days. I got a job, hurrah! So I've been a bit busy. It's been great. Here's to getting out of the house and making some money while I'm at it. Halle- fking-lujah.**

**Here ya go! Jack and Charlie, talking. Übergoober and younger goober. JackGoober. Whatever! :-) The next one should soon follow.**

* * *

"It's silly, but did you ever feel... tongue-tied with them?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I..." _Damn it_. This was difficult. _Tongue tied indeed_.

Mercifully, Jack stopped him. "Never mind. I think I know. And the short answer is yes. I did, for a time. It was after I'd come to think it wasn't so wrong. I felt terrible for the things I'd said, and the things I hadn't said but only thought. And I never knew what to say to either one of them. Nick and Duncan, I mean."

Charlie gasped, his eyes lit up, and he nodded quickly. Hearing his own nebulous thoughts put to words was a relief beyond anything he'd imagined.

* * *

Jack didn't notice his response. "And then the way Duncan looks like Elsie, but more...hmm..."

"...terrifying?" Charlie said under his breath, then heard Jack snort, once. He looked up to see Jack suppressing a grin. When he'd got it under control he spoke.

"That's one way of putting it. But it's all a big act; it's the way he protects himself. And the way he protects Nick, for that matter."

"Why?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Well, Nick was cast out of his father's house, but maybe you knew that?" Charlie nodded and Jack went on. "He's a gentle soul, Nick is. A bit like yourself, actually, if I may say so."

The last bit was an attempt to lighten the mood. But seeing Charlie's furrowed brow, Jack decided to try something different.

"Duncan is quite protective of him. Much like Elsie is protective of _you_."

"Me?" He was taken aback.

"Don't tell me you've never noticed it."

"I — I mean... I don't suppose I ever thought of it quite that way."

"Maybe you've never been in enough danger to find out."

In the half-second pause, they could both hear what Jack hadn't said. _You haven't been in danger but they are. Every day._

"But that woman would move heaven and earth to keep you safe. And not just safe, but happy. I'd swear to it."

"There's no need for that," Charlie said, unsure why he was smiling. It hurt his face to smile with his mouth closed and his jaw so tense. "I believe you. I'd do the same for her."

"I'm sure you would," said Jack. "And so would Duncan for Nick. And Nick for Duncan. It's the same thing. And it took me a long time to realize it, but that's the long and short of it."

"I just... ahem." He swallowed hard. "I believe you. I do."

_Liar,_ he admonished himself.

"...I, at least… that is… I'm trying to believe it. Right now I just feel like they're... Like they're some kind of martyrs, I suppose."

Jack frowned. "How's that?"

He hesitated at first, and then the words tumbled out. Every word made him more embarrassed and as he grew more embarrassed, more words rushed out.

"I feel... unworthy, somehow. No, that sounds... I don't know. They've suffered so much. But they're a mystery to me. And I want to know their stories, but I don't dare ask. I feel like they're somehow... _Holy_. And I know that's mad. I don't want them to think I see them as a... as a curiosity. But," he was slowing down as he became aware of an uncomfortable fact. "Oh. Oh good god. I'm afraid that's... that's... oh my word, it is."

Charlie was mortified. Jack looked at him curiously and waited.

"That's how I see them." His eyes went wide; his brow furrowed.

Jack nodded.

"It's why they're still not comfortable with me."

"That may well be," Jack replied quietly.

"I've been treating them like some side show to be pitied and stared at." Then he insisted, "I didn't mean to."

He looked at Jack, horrified. "I _didn't,_ truly, I just... I just wanted to understand, I just want to —"

He seemed to deflate, then his whirling anxiety flung more words out of him. "I want to protect them, as if they were children. As if they were _wounded_ children, at that. Isn't that ridiculous? They're grown men; why would they want that from _me?_"

He looked miserable, standing there contradicting himself. Jack's hand on his shoulder made him bristle, but only for an instant. He straightened his back and raised his chin, looking at Jack and seeing empathy where he'd expected condemnation.

"It's alright, mate," Jack told him. "You've not done near as much harm as you think you have."

Charlie closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jack let his hand drop and took a few small steps back; he had begun to feel a touch too vulnerable with them standing so close together.

* * *

tbc...


	253. Chapter 253

**Charlie Charlie Charlie, exoticizing the Other. tut tut. He's gonna get himself sorted one of these days, I should think... **

**thanks for your reviews! xoxox**

* * *

He took some time alone after dinner to do a bit of writing, to try to empty his head. With a grimace he recalled the last time he'd emptied his head onto paper. What a disaster _that_ had been.

The words had rushed out of him then in a flood of righteous anger, giving him a sense of satisfaction that he now found repugnant. He reassured himself again and again that those pages were gone, burned away, and good riddance to them.

The guilt still lingered and he had a feeling it wasn't going away soon, because it was all wrapped up in this newfound, debilitating admiration. And trying to put it all on paper was excruciating. He wrote haltingly, struggling to compose sentences when it all felt so ridiculous despite the conversation he'd had with Jack.

He made sure not to identify anyone in this diary entry, just in case.

"_Strange conversation today. Strange but helpful, I suppose. I've wanted to _— _no, that's not right. I've wished" _—

He crossed it all out.

"_I want them never to come to any harm. Least of all from me. I cannot imag" _—

He started to cross it out, disliking the imperfection of it. He'd never liked imprecision and this was _messy_. Unable to leave the word unfinished, he completed "_imagine," _took a deep breath, and started again, a few lines farther down.

"_Admiration too intense makes them uncomfortable."_

There, that worked. It was a complete sentence, however clumsy.

"_Far be it from me to want to inflict __that_ _on them. I wonder how many times they've come close to being caug" _—

_Stop that_, he told himself. Instead of writing out the rest of "_caught,"_ he crossed out the word.

"_How many times have they been hurt?"_

He thought he might get further by simply writing one thought per line. _Sod it,_ he thought, telling himself that he could go back and cross it all out later if need be.

"_How did they really meet?_

_Why didn't she tell me_

_I know why; it wasn't her story and that's perfectly alright_

_How can I impress upon them how differently I feel? J. has seen it and surely they've noticed too; E. has remarked that D" _—

He stopped himself, crossing out the initials.

— "_that he's not come this far without learning to read people._

_T told me long ago he's learned to read people and they use clues; I wonder what they are" _—

He stopped himself again, realizing this was all too superficial. It was mind-boggling, this sense of desperate admiration. He hated it, to be honest. He felt off-balance —

"_I feel" _—

He hesitated, his pen lifting from the page. Yes, this felt right; these words felt true:

— "_a shaking of the ground I stand on._"

He chuckled weakly; the ground had already shaken under him; a powerful earthquake had shuddered through those dreams and broken — _there it is._

He started writing and didn't let himself stop.

"_The dreams have broken my heart open. Not long ago I would have laughed at such a notion, but there it is."_

He let out a deep breath. He didn't know—

"_I don't know what else to say. I don't know how to act normally around them. I've been so disapproving and I know it's wrong because those prophetic dreams _— _what a joke! _— _have shown me the error of my ways, as it were, but I'm afraid I keep pushing them farther away with all this" _—

His pen hovered and he asked himself angrily, _All this __what__, Charlie? _Then he simply scribbled. He drew a wobbly line between two of the perfectly straight lines already in the book, then a spiral (_crossing the lines, Charlie! My, how bold_), then crossed out all of it — not the words, only the scribbles — and realized that that, too, was a mark on the page and not a negation.

He sighed, turned the page, and started again. He'd always liked the way the rich black ink had soaked into the page (but only just — not enough to bleed through unless he left it for too long). Part of the pleasure of the flawless ledger was in the glide of pen across paper; he'd always loved the exquisite nibs of his pens and the ritual of refilling their cartridges. He drew long swirls of ink, parallel curves that ended in a scroll — and he made short little lines between them, not coloring but just filling the space with short hatches.

A few circles, then, some squares, and he told himself _you're avoiding the questions, Charlie_, but some other part of him insisted _I'll get there just give me some time I need this_.

So he scribbled some more on the left-hand page of his open book, flouting the fine-lined boundaries of a butler's diary by crossing them with lines of ink both fat and thin. It was a new pleasure, one he'd never allowed himself. In fact it had never even come to that — it had never _occurred_ to him that one could do this with a diary, certainly not one that he would have used at work (the phrase _defacing his Lordship's property_ ran through his head and he couldn't remember why it seemed familiar until he thought of that pin board in his pantry in London and chuckled. _Good god, man._)

He took the nib from the page and closed his eyes. As he opened them, he very carefully set the nib at the beginning of the right-hand page and began to write.

"_It is a kind of fascination that I have never felt before… No, that's not quite right. I think it may be something akin to the worship of Jesus, though I know this comparison to be blasphemous. But His suffering and sacrifice for our sake — or maybe it is akin to my sentiment for the boys who died in the War. I feel this shaking as if I need to atone but my atonement makes no sense. I do not know how to express it, for I have never felt this before for another person. Not even for her, though I have had moments of doubt and misery. It was never her whom I doubted, but myself. I've feared the loss of her, but never through her own fault. No, it has been I who have pushed her away so many times, but I — no, I must remember that she __does_ _love me; she's accepted me and even now after all of this idiocy she still loves me. How lucky I am" — _

He stopped, rolling his eyes at himself. _You're getting distracted again, Charlie._ He turned the page; the previous page was almost full anyway and this was his diary and he would do as he liked with it, and if he wanted to draw nonsense in it, why, he would, but now he had something important to write and damn it, he wanted to get it on paper before he lost it —

"_I wish to be their friend and I am afraid I have missed my chance with my intolerance. I hope that I can find a way to act normally and kindly. I also wish to apologize. Maybe that will be the solution. I can apologize. Can't I? If not for my thoughts, then at least for my behavior. For my thoughts too, I suppose. This gives me some measure of hope, which has not been the case in many days."_

He capped the pen, waited for the ink to dry on the page, then closed the book. There still might be time to join them all at tea downstairs. He would apologize. And then maybe, he hoped, maybe someday all would be well.

* * *

_tbc..._


	254. Chapter 254

**Charlie bear ventures out and encounters a bit of fun.**

* * *

As he descended the stairs, Charlie could hear Duncan telling part of a story.

"...and I very heroically called out —"

"No!" Elsie was laughing as she interrupted him, "no, don't you remember? It was the grave they'd dug for the dog —"

Duncan grinned and shook his fist at the sky in mock misery. "Och, I loved that dog — what was his name again?"

Charles took one more steadying breath and entered the sitting room, just in time to see Elsie roll her eyes.

"I know you did, Dunkie; you tried to bring it inside with you until they told you about fleas, and even then —"

"I said I would bite them back!"

"Ugh," Andra exclaimed in mostly-mock horror,"If ye ever find a flea big enough to bite..." she trailed off.

It was Nicholas who jumped in with a solution: "Stab it with a pitchfork and take it to the fair! You'll win a prize!"

"Nicky, that's _disgusting_," Elsie admonished him, with a grin that wrinkled her nose even more than usual. "So as I was saying, we had this great gaping pit, or at least what _seemed_ like one to us at the tender young age of eight —"

"And seven, don't forget," Duncan pointed out.

"Oh, I know, you. Thank you for reminding me I'll always be older than you. Maybe one of these years I'll get a bit of respect for it," she scolded, mock-affronted. "Anyway, the great yawning _pit of despair_ was out in the yard, all ready for the dear departed beastie. And then _you _went and filled it with water — "

"Oho!" Duncan gleefully interrupted her. "Shifting the blame! I was at the well; _you_ ran the buckets over to dump them in, ye boisterous wench!"

"Thank you for that," she said as an aside to Duncan, just as Charlie coughed. He'd hoped to cover his shocked laughter at the epithet, but everyone turned to look at him. He froze, forgetting to breathe, his heart pounding.

"Charlie!" Andra called out. Elsie turned toward him in surprise, then smiled broadly at him — or was her expression pleading? He couldn't tell. The atmosphere in the room grew slightly tense before Andra continued, "I'm glad to see you're back in the land of the living. Come on, then, come join us."

He hesitated. "I don't want to ruin your fun."

Duncan had stiffened upon realizing his brother-in-law was in the room, but he decided right then to drop the stern act. The man had already seen and heard him telling this silly story and frankly, he'd grown tired of glowering. _To hell with it_, he thought, and addressed Charlie.

"Oh go on. You _might_ ruin our fun, but only if ye carry on silently lurking in doorways." It could easily have sounded like a dismissal, but shockingly, Duncan was gesturing for him to join them.

Everyone's stunned attention shifted to Duncan, who rolled his eyes at them, shrugged, and hid his grin by taking a sip of bourbon.

Charlie blinked and gave them all a small, vulnerable smile.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I would be, ahem, I — thank you."

With his heart still pounding, he made his way over to the settee where Elsie had made room for him to sit next to her. Nicholas poured him a glass.

"Try this," he said. "It's from Loo-vull."

"_Loo-ville?" _Charlie asked him, almost too scandalized to repeat the word. He hesitated to take the glass.

"Louisville, Kentucky," Jack read from the bottle, grinning. He pronounced it _Lou-iss-ville. _"I'm afraid Nicky's not got your talent for imitation —"

"No, they _do_ call it that," Duncan interjected. "Louisville is _Looi-vill." _His mouth wrapped uncomfortably around the word and he grinned. "We brought it back from our last visit to America."

"How very French of them," Charlie said vaguely. It sounded like a question, because he'd trailed off, staring helplessly at Duncan's grin.

"Indeed," said Duncan, which unbalanced Charlie even more. _Indeett_.

"I'm surprised there's any left," Nicholas remarked, holding the glass out to Charlie.

He accepted it while Andra scoffed something about Nick accusing them all of being "hammered every day of the week."

Somewhat bewildered, he thanked Nick and raised his glass to them all. Then he took a sip, cautious because of the unfamiliar liquor — but more so because of the uncharted territory in which he found himself. He hummed in pleasure — it was delicious, a bit sweeter and nuttier than most whiskey he'd had. The flavor reminded him of something,but he couldn't quite place it. He thanked them again for the bourbon, this time nodding to both Nicholas and Duncan and feeling more than a little skittish meeting Duncan's eyes.

Duncan nodded back. Elsie had her hand on her man's back and she looked up at her brother, biting her lip with a hopeful smile in her eyes.

Duncan took up the story again, his curious eyes lingering on Charlie even after he'd looked away, down into his glass.

"So there was this horrid deep hole full of the icy water that wee Elsie had carried over, trudging too and fro —"

"I spilled half of it down my frock, too." She gave Charlie's hand a squeeze.

"But then that cover we built for it —" Duncan grinned.

"Oh Lord, no!" she chuckled. "You must use those two words loosely: 'Cover' and 'built'! And no one was fooled. Not a soul. We tried to get them all to — remember? to walk over it, with a few leaves and twigs laid over it in a pathetic attempt to disguise this horrid mud pit —"

"In July", he laughed, his nose wrinkling just like hers, "and that well water was the coldest thing you could imagine!"

"Och, my old bones hurt just thinking of it."

"But you never fell into the pit, did you?" Nicholas wanted to know.

"No, but I was running with these pails of water, and then I tripped over Angus, and —" she made a helpless gesture, her hands rolling over one another.

"Angus? The lad from down the road?" Andra interjected.

"No, no —" Duncan was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. "Angus was what we called every single one of the chickens. Angus this, Angus that."

"Oh my lord, you two," Andra muttered.

Charlie was not quite getting why it was so funny, but from Andra's tone he had the feeling he wasn't alone in that.

It was great fun, this little gathering, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable. He was eager to get his apology out and anxious about whether it would be well-received, but tonight there would be no good moment to deliver it.

* * *

_tbc..._


	255. Chapter 255

**OMFG. Right after posting the last chapter I was launched into a week of Intense Adulting (not even job-related! ...and not nearly as much fun as it sounds. At first I'd written it as "Extreme Adulting" and then found that, on second thought, that sounds extremely risqué. It wasn't.) and then I finally tweaked this into a form I could post. I hope you enjoy it! Xoxox. Thank you for your reviews!**

* * *

He offered the diary to her with both hands like some desperate sacrifice to a wrathful god. But there was no anger in her. Not that he could see, at least. She looked pensive, sitting there with her back against the pillows, her braid draped over her shoulder, and the book open on her knees.

He sat hugging his knees watching her read what he'd written. She made little sounds while reading: a quiet hum, the occasional whispered "oh my" that might actually be a bit amused...? He couldn't tell. A few times her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth, then slowly let her hand drift away, down to the page again.

Once, she gasped and urgently reached for his hand. Adrenaline rushed through him and he tried to breathe normally as she held his hand tightly in hers. When she had to let go to wipe away her tears, he sat next to her against the pillows but kept a respectful distance, not feeling bold enough to put his arm around her.

She inhaled deeply after reading it all, closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the pillows. He was seized with stupid, outlandish fear for half a second before she opened her eyes.

She glanced back at the page and thought vaguely that the words on which her fingertips rested would make an odd sentence if they were strung together.

_"Never her — need to atone — died in the War — and misery"_

She gave herself a little shake, thinking that this distraction was getting them nowhere. She blinked and looked back up at him.

_"...those prophetic dreams," _he'd written. Good lord.

And then, _"something akin to the worship of Jesus, though I know this comparison to be blasphemous —"_

That one had made her laugh, a short, high little syllable that was more than half nerves. This was all so bizarre. She told herself she didn't understand the problem he was having, but she knew it must have cost him a great deal to show this to her. She was awfully glad he'd had a chat with Jack about it, for one, and for the other, she was caught between pleased and worried about the doodles in his book. To her knowledge at least, he'd never done that before.

She glanced back at the page.

_"...I who have pushed her away so many times —"_

All at once his quiet voice seemed to fill the room.

"So, I thought I might start with an apology. If I may."

Good _god, _but this was difficult. He grimaced and flexed his fingers in the sheets.

"Oh, Mr Carson," she breathed.

She certainly wouldn't have called her response any kind of 'verdict,' but his pleading expression told her he was waiting for just that.

"Mr Ca—," she began, then caught herself and laughed slightly. "Now I'm just repeating myself!" Her voice squeaked and she shook her head at the absurdity of it. She paused, pursed her lips, then gently closed the book and gave it back to him. He looked at it for a moment and then twisted to put it on the table. When he turned back to her, there was a question in his eyes.

She gave his forearm an awkward squeeze, hesitated, then reached up to wrap her arms around him. He held her tightly, whispering "thank you" with such intensity that she had to suppress a nervous giggle.

He felt her body tense up, and he immediately loosened his hold.

She pulled back.

"I won't claim I quite understand, but I... that is..." she began, then trailed off because she did feel _something_ familiar in what she'd read. Speaking it out loud seemed to open up new possibilities, but then she found herself blinking and struggling for words.

"...I might understand it ... a little, I think."

He looked up at her and she twisted her mouth to the side, then bit her lip. The odd, charming little gesture made him smile just a little, and it gave her a bit of courage.

"Reading that, I felt as if you'd taken years of my thoughts and — and, I don't know, boiled them down? ...and now there they are."

_What, like a red wine reduction? Good lord_, _Els, you sound as though you'd taken leave of your senses._

A reduction, indeed. The flavors more intense for having been simmered down ... or the emotions more intense for the haste in which he felt them.

_Oh for heaven's sake. _She glanced at the book and then ducked her head, giving a miserable little laugh.

"You must think I sound mad."

He frowned in surprise at her.

"No — _never_." He raised his hands as if to gesture, then dropped them into his lap. Then he just looked at her, not knowing what to say next.

_Good god, his eyes_.

She could get drunk on those eyes. She thought wildly that maybe she _was_ drunk. But, no — she'd had a small glass of wine at dinner and tea after. Nothing more.

The long pause before he spoke again was uncomfortable, with them looking anywhere but at each other.

"I need find a way to act normally."

"I know," she sighed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She looked confused and he had to explain, quickly, before he lost his nerve.

"I'm sorry to have put you through this, Mrs Hughes. _Elsie_."

And her eyes slid closed as he said her most private name; she bit her lip. He held her hand and she opened her eyes and watched him as he kissed it. He held it to his cheek as he looked back up at her. When he spoke his voice was somehow both rich and tentative. Seductive and questioning.

"I'm not comfortable when you and I are not in agreement, but... I think it's been worse for you than it has been for me."

What he said was a shock and it made her intake of breath a shaky one. Her eyes slammed shut and two tears raced down her cheeks. When she opened her eyes and tried to speak, she found it difficult to form words.

After a pause that felt agonizingly long to both of them, she managed to speak.

"Thank you for that." Her voice was half-whisper, but she stretched up to put her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, held her tight, and felt a small thrill as she whispered another "thank you" against his neck.

They lingered, softening into each other's embrace. They inhaled deeply at exactly the same time. Each of them gave a nervous little laugh at that.

Then they both pulled back, their hearts pounding. They searched one another's eyes, asking if it might be alright if they...? Ah, but neither one felt ready to talk about it; neither could take the bold step of putting desire into words. Not after all this stupid distance, after all this idiotic pain.

She retreated, falling back into the pillows. He worried that he'd offended her somehow, but her expression was gentle as she beckoned. "Come here, my man."

He turned off the lamp and lay down beside her, his head on her shoulder. Suddenly tired, she sighed and pressed a kiss to his head.

"I'll help you, love. Of course I will."

"Thank you." His voice cut out and half of it was a whisper.

A comfortable silence spread out over them for a few minutes until he spoke again. The darkness and their closeness gave him courage.

"You'll think me mad..."

"Why is that?" came her sleepy reply.

"Such a strange notion."

"Hmm?"

"It's just that... with Duncan —"

He felt her stiffen against him and hurried to explain.

"Nothing like that. Only, he looks _just like you._"

She tensed with laughter that was half relief.

"And that grin... He wrinkles his nose just like you do. And — but — it is as if he were some eldritch version of you."

She stifled a burst of shocked laughter that he of all people would know _that_ word.

"Oh, my love. I think you'll find with time that he's... Erm. Oh lord, how do I explain Duncan?"

He kept silent.

"He's just... He's just Duncan. I adore him; he's my wee brother, but I suppose you could say that _he's_ a nippy sweetie if ever there was one."

"Well, I know _that."_

She couldn't help the little laugh that escaped.

"I mean, he's just a man. He's no Jesus on the cross, Mr Carson. He's... Well. You'll see."

"Thank you." His words were slurred with his exhaustion.

"Oh. my lovely man."

She took a moment to think of it — Duncan as a harsh, otherworldly version of herself. She smirked a little as she turned out the light — her brother always could arch an eyebrow even better than she could.

"Oh Charlie, what are we going to do with your wonderful, strange mind?" she asked him, but he was already asleep.

* * *

_tbc..._


	256. Chapter 256

Elsie poked her head into the doorway.

"Och, _there_ you are." She squinted; the rare sunny December day was blaring through the window.

Her sister didn't seem to notice her; she was facing away from the door and singing to the baby while she changed him.

"Andra," Elsie whispered urgently. Her hand curled around the doorframe and her fingers tapped impatiently against the wood.

Andra glanced at Elsie, smirked just a bit, and muttered around the pins in her mouth.

"What's got _your_ knickers in a twist?"

Elsie rolled her eyes and entered the room as Andra quickly did up the baby's diaper. She dressed him and laid him against her shoulder.

"Oh, _hello_ there," Elsie cooed, gently curving her hand over the boy's head and leaning in to kiss his forehead. She smiled at the familiar sweet baby scent.

"We're awfully lucky, aren't we?"

Andra looked at her, questioning, then nodded and hummed her agreement.

_In so many ways_.

None of it needed to be said.

The baby pursed his lips and rumpled his forehead as he glowered thunderously in Elsie's general direction.

Her eyes went wide in amusement and she gave an exaggerated sigh of deepest sympathy. "I see you'd prefer the company of your mama. Well, you'll just have to wait until she wakes from her nap."

"Aye, poor wee thing. Having to make do with us instead. Dreadful, just horrid," Andra added. She asked a question with her eyes, already shifting the little man to hand him over. Elsie nodded, reaching to accept the warm bundle that she soon settled against her own shoulder.

"_Poor thing_..." Elsie agreed indulgently. She automatically began swaying side to side and lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet. It was in her bones, this dance. She leaned her cheek against the baby's hair.

"I held your mama like this, jo." Her eyes flicked up to Andra's and they shared a smile. She'd held Andra like this too; she'd held all of them.

She nuzzled the baby's soft hair and felt his little body relax a bit more. Then she gave a short, quiet laugh at herself. "Oh! I'll forget my head next."

"Hmm?" Andra was tidying up the baby's things from the bed.

Elsie spoke quietly and urgently, the way she used to when a situation called for secrecy._ Quite the plotter_, he'd said to her once; well, this was for his benefit. _And mine_, she thought, part amused, but mostly saddened — exhausted — by all of this. The baby had temporarily put it all out of her mind.

"He wants to apologize," she whispered. "To Duncan and Nick. I think, if the four of us could sit down together tonight, it might be conducive..."

Andra raised her eyebrows, understanding exactly what was needed.

"Well, Jack and I can go up early and leave you to it, then."

Elsie didn't realize how high and tense her shoulders had been until they dropped in relief at Andra's words.

"Thank you," she said, feeling tired.

"Believe me, it's no trouble. I'll be glad to see the end of all of that nonsense."

"I think we _all_ will be."

Just then Charlie was walking past and he paused in the doorway. What he saw took his breath away. His bride in profile, the sun shining on her hair, and a baby at her br —_ no, Charlie, on her __shoulder_.

She looked younger. It must be the light playing games with his mind.

But there she was, bouncing the baby as if she'd done so all her life. Her sister said something that made her tilt her head and smile just before she turned and saw him. They both stood motionless, stunned, looking their fill of one another.

It was Andra who broke the silence.

"Come on, then." Again she sounded so much like her sister that he blinked in surprise when there wasn't an "I dare you" to follow it.

He hesitated. "I wouldn't like to intrude."

But here was Andra making her brisk, friendly way out the door and ushering him into the room as she went.

Baffled, he watched her go, then turned to Elsie.

She took a few steps toward him and reached for his hand; he met her halfway.

"High time you meet the little man properly, I should think." The sound of her voice stalled him — soft words winding around a tired sigh... and then that burr. He wanted to wrap that voice around himself and never let go.

He wanted to wrap himself up in _her_, to be honest. It has been so very long and he wanted to love her, to banish that sadness from the edges of her voice and bring her joy again.

_Lord knows I've caused her enough pain these past weeks._

He stepped closer and his big hand rested gently — reverently — on the baby's head. He sighed and she smiled shyly up at him.

"Would you like to hold him?"

At that he smiled, his eyes bright, and nodded. "If I may."

She ducked her head; her tender expression suddenly felt too naked.

Little Jack made small sounds of indignation in his sleep, wriggling his arms and frowning mightily as she handed him over.

"Indeed, sir," Charlie intoned. "It's a terrible thing, isn't it, to be handed about like a loaf of bread."

She stifled a giggle, biting her lip at the simple, aching beauty of it. Of course he would be like this with a baby. She'd seen him with Miss Sybbie, and then with Betsy and Glenna. Of _course_ that voice would calm Jack down within seconds. The rumpled baby-frown smoothed right out and Jack settled more fully onto Charlie's shoulder almost as soon as he started talking.

Charlie closed his eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised as if he were hearing some wonderful melody. Her heart thudded away in her chest as she realized: _This._ This was the image of him she would always have in her heart. There were others, of course. But the freezing sunlight and her man's broad shoulders and his beautiful face with that tiny bairn on his shoulder — _yes_.

He opened his eyes to her looking at him like _that_ — and she blinked and looked away, blushing.

He wanted to kiss her, but he worried that it might not be proper just now — or it might be unwelcome. So he brought her hand to his lips instead, trying to tell her with his eyes how much he loved her (wanted her, wanted to taste and please her and banish this cold sadness... and yes, bury himself in her, feel her heat around him,_ oh lord Charlie stop it)._

With a child in his arms it was _very_ easy to push those thoughts away.

* * *

_tbc..._


	257. Chapter 257

His voice wobbled and he cleared his throat, trying a second time to ask if she was really serious, if she'd really arranged for —

"So, you mean... tonight, then?"

"Yes...unless you'd rather not? I can ask Andra to forget about it if you'd rather have a bit more time to plan it."

"No, no. Don't, erm, don't trouble yourself. I'll manage."

The warm little weight asleep on his shoulder somehow helped keep him from losing himself in his own anxious, circling thoughts.

"I'll help you, remember. If you want me to."

"Oh. Er... Yes? Thank you... Should I talk to one first, then the other, do you think?"

She didn't answer at first, but only bit her lip. He watched her lean back against Andra's dresser with her hands curled over its edges. Now she bent slightly forward and lined up the toes of one foot with the floorboards, angling her toes to lie parallel with the cracks. He held the baby snug against his shoulder and leaned in to see what she was doing. But it was nothing, he supposed, because she smirked at herself and then looked back up at him.

At his questioning glance she shrugged.

"It's a knot in the floor," she explained, moving her foot aside to show him. "We decided once to stand on it and see how long we could balance on one foot. For an extra challenge we closed our eyes."

He imagined a child version of her, playing at that with Duncan.

She shook her head at herself, chuckled, and then smiled brilliantly as she looked up at him. It was silly, really, telling him about that..

"Anyway, I think we can just talk with the two of them. It doesn't have to be a big production, remember."

"Hmm."

In an attempt to assuage his fears, she stepped toward him and laid her hand on his arm, then drew him down to kiss his cheek.

"It will be alright, Charlie," she murmured close in his ear. She pulled back and looked at him with kind eyes. "It's the beginning of a conversation. Even if it's unpolished, it's something."

_Unpolished. How very unpleasant_. The idea of improvising such a thing made him nervous, and he made up his mind to prepare a speech.

She caught the discomfort in his expression and gave his arm a squeeze.

"Would you like me to help you write it, then?"

Startled, he gave her a baffled expression — _how did she know?_ — and she responded with a tiny smile.

"We can put Jack down for his nap and work on it now, if you like."

"Would it be alright if I kept holding him? He seems to be asleep."

_Oh you delightful, beautiful man_.

She looked at the baby's face and yes, of course he was sleeping soundly on Charlie's shoulder.

Their eyes met and she smiled, ducking her chin and giving a nervous laugh. Then she swept her gaze back up to him with a smile.

"Of course you can hold him. We should all have been so lucky, to be held by the likes of you."

Adrenaline shot through his heart; he was about to take a risk and it both thrilled and frightened him. He swallowed hard.

"I'll hold _you_ whenever you like, Elsie," he managed quietly.

_And however you like as well, _he thought, but kept mum. He watched her carefully and was pleased to see that she was flustered.

"Let's go and —" her hand flailed vaguely in the direction of the door, "— and write that speech."

His expression was part gratitude, part trepidation, and part wicked smile as he watched her all but flee the room. He followed, confidently keeping the sleeping baby steady on his shoulder with one big hand.

* * *

_tbc_

thank you for your wonderful reviews! I'm sorry I haven't responded lately, but please know I'm so delighted by you're response to this. Thank you fir taking the time to drop me a line; it means a lot to me. Xo! :-)


	258. Chapter 258

They looked at each other, puzzled and a bit frustrated. His diary lay open in front of her on the kitchen table and his pen was in her hand; they'd quickly realized that he had trouble writing with only one hand on the page.

Jack wiggled a bit on Charlie's shoulder as if he could sense their unease.

She twisted her mouth to one side and looked away with a little frown. He shifted uncomfortably and she swiftly looked back at him, looking concerned.

He sighed. So did she. Each of them groaned inwardly at having done it at the same time.

"So if I —"

"You don't have to — "

She bit her lip, but didn't look away. Then she took a deep breath, held it, and finally spoke.

"We don't have to do this."

Pained, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

She continued, gesturing to the book, "I mean we don't have to do it like _this._ Writing out a speech. You don't need a script."

He inhaled sharply and they started at each other, both of them startled by the aptness of what she'd said.

Looking away from her imploring eyes, he leaned his cheek gently against the baby and breathed in, thinking that perhaps this _was_ too much. He glanced down at the book, where they'd filled a page and a half with awkward phrases, failed beginnings, and meticulously crossed-out names. It was something akin to a book of prayer, he thought wildly, each line a desperate plea to his fellow man.

Only a few seconds had passed, but he'd felt a change — as if awakening from a light sleep or opening his eyes to sunlight after a stormy day. _Like getting drunk backwards, _he mused. _Only, quite rapidly_. He chuckled softly, feeling just a little embarrassed, only _slightly_ foolish, but ready to move on.

"A script, you say. I think you're right."

She just looked at him, blinking once in confusion.

"I mean, you're right, I don't need one. It's... This isn't a role to play. It's been that all along, and now it... isn't."

It sounded like a question at the end, a plea for understanding. And she did understand, she thought, and so she capped the pen, laid it down, and grasped his hand instead.

"It's going to be alright," she told him, and he believed her.

* * *

She squeezed his hand and he gave her a tense little smile in return.

Across from them sat Duncan and Nick. Just the four of them in the sitting room with a bottle of wine and four glasses, and he'd already poured it with uncharacteristic flourish, and he was forcing his knee not to bounce because he was going to do this, damn it, and he thought _for god's sake, man, pull yourself together,_ because it was time for him to speak. He could tell they were starting to wonder what the hell this fresh oddness from him could mean.

He'd never been so fervent in his wish for a script as he was just then.

He cleared his throat and tried to make this easier by imagining juggling in front of an audience. This couldn't be worse than that, could it? But an absurd image invaded his mind and he thought of juggling flaming knives, naked in front of a crowd of angry Dowager Countesses. That was the vulnerability he felt, the impression of being exposed and uncertain.

_Stop it,_ he told himself.

They were looking at him and at last he simply blurted, "I'm so sorry."

Duncan and Nicholas's eyebrows flew up at the same time; it would have been funny if he weren't so bloody nervous. He shook his head at himself with a miserable little laugh.

"I ... I beg your pardon. What I mean to say is that I apologize for my behavior, which was terribly rude."

He paused; this was the extent of what he'd planned in his head during dinner. Oh he'd tried to plan more, but got stuck every time, thoughts spinning around various ways of begging forgiveness for things he'd never even spoken aloud.

Now he rushed to add more. Words that were just as true as the rest and felt more urgent.

"And ... and I've wanted to say that I'm so sorry for all you've suffered."

For a long moment there was no sound but the crackling of the fire. It seemed as if everyone in the room were afraid to breathe.

It was Nick who spoke first.

"I'm touched, Charlie. I think we both are."

Nick turned toward Duncan, who nodded, his eyes still on Charlie.

* * *

_tbc_


	259. Chapter 259

**Oh for fuck's sake, finally we're back. Thanks for your reviews, lovely people!**

* * *

_For a long moment there was no sound but the crackling of the fire. It seemed as if everyone in the room were afraid to breathe._

_It was Nick who spoke first._

_"I'm touched, Charlie. I think we both are."_

_Nick turned toward Duncan, who nodded, his eyes still on Charlie._

* * *

Duncan looked wary.

_Wary? Grave, surely. Skeptical? _Charlie couldn't tell, and he opened his mouth and closed it once, twice. He cursed his own awkwardness. _For god's sake, Charlie, shut your stupid fish mouth._

Duncan's eyebrows dug into a deep frown and Charlie grew more nervous as the seconds ticked away. He was surprised when Duncan blinked — those big eyes focused on him seemed to skewer him into place against the settee; a blink was a short reprieve.

Nicholas watched Duncan as he leaned forward on the settee, resting his face in his hand, two knuckles at his chin as the other two fingers rested high against his cheekbone. He was perfectly still, which made it worse. Charlie could hear his own heartbeat.

_Let him strike me if that will make it right, he thought madly. Just, please end this suspense, please say something._

"What's brought this on?"

Elsie had asked him that once... Duncan's tone was curious as hers had been, but without that charming little trill of flirtation that her voice had carried. The man's voice was low and demanding.

* * *

This was bizarre.

The stodgy man had broken down.

Sure, he was charming with the children, kind to Elsie, and so on, but he'd been fixing Nick and Duncan with glowering stares for a week. And then for a few days he'd gone ... _maudlin_. He'd been looking at them like young men of their persuasion used to look at the two of them. It looked like puppy love; it looked like an obsessive crush.

Well, obviously it was not _that_. But something was very _off_.

Duncan narrowed his eyes at Charlie, furrowing his brow. In other contexts he'd been made aware that his eyebrows often looked considerably angrier than he felt. But just now it was far from his mind; he was just trying to puzzle out what on earth his new brother-in-law was on about.

"What's brought this on?"

Charlie blinked, looking more confused than Duncan would have expected. How could that question be so difficult to comprehend?

The big man stammered and shifted uncomfortably, folding his fingers together. Duncan watched him curiously.

"I know it may seem hard to believe, but I.. I've changed."

"I've heard that before," Duncan said without thinking, and cursed inwardly. He had no intention of making this more difficult than it needed to be, but decades of secrecy and fear were distilled into his response,

(Decades of anger and pain concentrated now into a single point, a single moment in this strange visit to his home, countless stupid encounters in the past with cruel children adolescents adults _everyone_ and now there they were in this house that had been a haven since Da's death — and now _this_. The idyll had been broken up by this great lumbering idiot husband of Elsie's whom he would never dare insult — first, out of consideration for his sister, and second, because he'd learned — the hard way — to be cautious. To control his temper.)

Duncan's right upper eyelid began to twitch. He blinked, rubbing his eye. _That_ hadn't happened in ages.

Elsie recognized it and made a jerky movement with her hand, her body tensing as she made to stand, get the man his tobacco and papers, something to ease the high-strung torment she knew he was in when that twitch came. She forced herself to stay seated and wait this out.

Charlie started at her sudden movement, breaking eye contact with Duncan. When he looked back, Duncan was watching him with one eye, the heel of his hand lightly pressed over the other.

Charlie stammered.

"I... I beg your pardon, you've heard it before?"

Duncan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was Nick who explained, in quiet and weary tones.

"Sometimes they've claimed that, Charlie, and then they want to get some kind of voyeuristic thrill from knowing us."

Duncan cut in, "Then, they're sorely disappointed when they discover we're not the" — and these next words he snarled — "_debauched freaks _they were hoping for."

Charlie shook his head, wanting to protest but uncertain how to convince them.

Nick added quietly, "those were the nice ones," then he shook his head. Duncan leaned toward him and started to whisper something, then remembered the presence of others in the room. He turned his glare on Elsie and Charlie, not intending to burn _them _necessarily, but simply full of the misery that he carried for himself, for Nick, for the friends they'd lost to prison, death, and worse. It spilled over, is all. It was too much to contain and so it came out in an angry facial expression.

He looked away and spoke to the fire. "The other ones were a bloody witch hunt, is what they were."

The suffering in the quiet tone of those few words was unmistakable. Elsie wanted to make it better - hell, Charlie wanted to make it better too, but _he_ had no words and _she_ didn't deem it advisable to meddle. Not just now, not just this very minute.

Nick reached for Duncan's hand.

The fire was dying down; the clock ticked. Neither Charlie nor Elsie was sure what to do or say; it seemed they were intruding on something very private. They tried to imagine what the two men were thinking.

Nick and Duncan looked haunted. Their knuckles turned white as they held on to one another.

And at last Duncan raised cold, tormented eyes to look at Charlie, who winced.

Enough already. It had to come out; otherwise they would never believe him. It was awfully embarrassing, what he was about to say. Without warning, his revelation filled the room.

"It was the dreams," he blurted.

Three pairs of eyes focused on him, one proud and two unsettled.

"The... I'm sorry, the dreams?" That was Nicholas.

_Get on with it, Charlie._

"I've been having these nightmares, you see."

Duncan looked at him, astounded. Open mouthed, he half-blinked and gave a tiny shake of his head.

And Charlie seemed unable to stop himself; the words rushed out of him.

"Terrible. They were terrible. Children being taken away for being, erm... Different?" He looked up at Duncan and Nick, boldly meeting their eyes and nodding. "For being like you. And I woke up horrified at myself because in the dream I didn't care."

Duncan stared. This was entirely unexpected. Nick squeezed his hand.

"And in the end it was too late for me to make it right."

Duncan furrowed his brow, curious.

Charlie suddenly felt he was getting ahead of himself.

"In the dream, I mean. It's confusing, I suppose." He gave a sad little chuckle, "It certainly was confusing for _me._"

Then he tumbled back to the beginning, his mind racing to explain it all. "I had four of these dreams. Three of them were enough to convince me what an utter _ass_ I'd been, and the fourth, well, it forced me to act, I suppose."

Well, that sounded ominous. The shaft of fear that shot through Duncan's heart was a response to the word "act," but it made no earthly sense, given the rest of what Charlie was saying.

"...so I'm asking you — no, I'm not even asking you for anything. I don't know if I even have that right, but I hope — that is, I'm asking if you could forgive me. I've been hateful and cruel and —" He held his hands up, then dropped them into his lap.

Duncan hung his head and dragged his hand over his face. When he looked up at Charlie, the other man looked, astoundingly, both frightened and hopeful. He appeared to be holding his breath.

Suddenly it was all too funny. The stupidity of all of this. Duncan and Charlie circling each other, fueled by fear and uncertainty... And love and family and principle and all the things they'd been taught about _who could love whom._

Clearly Charlie was not lying. Duncan knew that from the moment the man had started acting strange around them. The disapproval had been like an unavoidable stench all around them, infecting every gathering. This man sitting before him had gone through years of change in a few days' time. It seemed impossible, but who could say what the unconscious mind was capable of?

He looked at Nick and then back at Charlie.

And then Duncan let out a short laugh, dropped his chin and shook his head.

"Dunk?" asked Nick, a note of concern in his voice.

"Oh Lord," he managed. He was laughing, then, helplessly, and he wiped his eyes and looked up at Charlie again, at Elsie, and back at Charlie.

"It's alright, Charlie. Thank you. I believe you."

Charlie seemed to deflate. Duncan watched as Elsie drew him into her arms and the great mountain of a man bent and let her hold him against her bosom. They looked away as he shook against her, but caught her eyes, shining with tears of relief and gratitude as she smiled brilliantly at them and mouthed _"Thank you."_

Clearly embarrassed, Charlie straightened up and wiped his eyes. He reached for his wine glass and nearly knocked it over before he managed to catch it. The near accident made everyone jump to try to save the glass, and with small sighs of relief, they slowly settled back into their seats.

He held his glass up and began to speak in a wobbling, thick voice , then grimaced, cleared his throat, and began again.

"To ..." _Friendship. Family. To family? His father beat him, for god's sake. Family. Friendship? _Charlie paused, his mind stalled by the question. Dear god, now he was flubbing the toast.

Everyone waited while he struggled to find a word. When he settled on "_peace," _he found it inadequate, overly simple, even saccharine. His tone made it sound like a question — like a plea — but thank heaven, at least it sounded a bit stronger when they all repeated it.

* * *

_tbc..._


	260. Chapter 260

**I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. xox!  
Thanks for your reviews! I've been so awful about responding to them, but I appreciate every dang one!**

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* * *

"To ..." _Friendship. Family. To family? His father beat him, for god's sake. Family. Friendship?_

Charlie paused, his mind stalled by the question. Dear god, now he was flubbing the toast.

Everyone waited while he struggled to find a word. When he settled on "_peace," _he found it inadequate, overly simple, even saccharine. His tone made it sound like a question — like a plea — but thank heaven, at least it sounded a bit stronger when they all repeated it.

* * *

They turned in fairly soon after that. The rest of their conversation had not been fun, exactly, but it felt like a new beginning. All four of them felt more comfortable than they had in weeks.

In the dark, he groaned and she turned toward him. His arm was thrown over his head and she could just make out his grimace.

"What?" she whispered.

"I just wish I hadn't said 'to peace,' of all things. I mean, we weren't exactly at war, and peace isn't quite friendship, is it? I'd wanted to say 'family' but then I thought maybe it wouldn't be quite right, with the way he was treated — er, your father…"

"Charlie," she whimpered, her voice sounding far more sensual than she'd intended. She was exhausted. And frankly, she didn't understand why he was hopping around like this. Well, she did understand it, but she still wished he would calm down.

"Hmm?" He turned toward her, lifting his arm to look at her.

"Go to sleep." She turned away from him, wrapping up in the blankets and giving a big sigh.

He grinned, planted a kiss on her shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her. Her limbs were heavy and her patience thin.

"My sweet Elsie," he began, but she just hummed low in her throat, halfway back to sleep again.

They'd talked at length about the evening. Or rather, _he'd_ talked. He'd exclaimed, all in a whisper, how lucky he felt to have been understood. How worried he'd been that they wouldn't believe him. How very curious he was now about what their life had been like, and how he felt like he could now ask them things without being overly… overly anything.

He'd reminded her of a child. Oh, she was pleased for him too. Pleased for all of them, and delighted by his exuberance. But the man was clearly exhausted. The strain of it all had dissipated; it was like lifting a weight from one's hand and feeling the hand float up of its own accord. She was just waiting for him to float back to earth. Meanwhile, she felt both relieved and … drained. Yes, that was it. Emptied out, no more left in her to bolster his confidence or accept apologies or even to share in his joy — that yes, she did feel; she just needed to sleep.

And he let her. He kissed her cheek and extracted himself from around her, then went downstairs to get a drink of water.

Startled, he stopped in the kitchen doorway because here was Duncan at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of scotch.

* * *

Duncan asked him with his eyebrows whether he would like a wee dram too. Charlie nodded and sat down across from him.

They raised their glasses and sipped.

Nervously, Charlie spoke up.

"You know, I thought of saying 'to family' instead. And then 'to friendship.' I just —" He shook his head.

Duncan gave a little laugh, ducking his chin and resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. As he spoke, he looked up, a half-smile showing his teeth.

"You're frettin' about your little toast at the end?"

Charlie nodded, feeling a bit foolish.

"Well, I'll raise a glass to family, friends, and peace. And fighting, too — when there's good cause."

Charlie's eyes went wide.

Duncan's did too, daring him to disagree. But instead, he simply raised his glass a little higher, nodded, and downed its contents in one go.

Duncan looked impressed, having taken only a sip. Then he shrugged and drained his glass as well. Silently, he poured them another.

Charlie took a generous sip. "I used to be in a double act called the Cheerful Charlies."

After the first few words of the sentence Duncan snorted, nearly inhaling his drink. By the end of it he'd set the thing down and was staring at Charlie in disbelief.

Charlie simply nodded and swallowed the rest of his scotch. Duncan followed suit and poured them another.

"Really."

Charlie thought he'd never heard the word spoken with such emphasis. It sounded something like an exasperated huff mixed with incredulity mixed with…_ profound amusement_ was the only phrase that came to mind.

"Yep." The vowel was elongated and unbelievably, the p sounded like a champagne cork. Wide-eyed and with very cross-looking eyebrows, Duncan studied Charlie. The man sat with one giant hand curled around the little glass, the other braced on his knee, and he was looking up past those absurd eyebrows — looking at Duncan as if… for his approval?

Duncan couldn't help the short laugh that escaped him. "That's amazing."

The big man seemed to relax a bit.

"I was ashamed of it for a long time. For a very long time indeed."

Duncan quickly grew serious, narrowing his eyes. "What's changed?"

"My lovely bride," Charlie stated simply, before taking another swig.

"I see." Duncan sipped some more.

* * *

"So the day we found out," — Charlie's whisper was absurdly loud — "Mrs Patmore came and told me it wasn't cancer. But _she_ didn't know I knew."

"Or so you thought," Duncan amended.

"Or so I thought," Charlie agreed.

"And didn't she hear you?"

"She did!"

"And she never said?"

"No! Not until a few months ago, when we were already married."

"Oh good god, you two are bloody ridiculous." Duncan rolled his eyes.

"Well," Charlie squared his shoulders, absurd — "we were in service. We couldn't just —"

Duncan nodded. "Couldn't just fall into each other's arms. No, I suppose not."

"But what about you?"

Duncan stiffened; his eyes went cold — an old habit. But he saw Charlie flinch and shook his head, telling himself it was safe to trust; the man had had _nightmares_ for goodness' sake… And clearly he was sincere.

"I'm sorry: I don't mean to pry."

Duncan took a deep breath and seemed to shake something off.

"It's alright. What do you want to know?"

"How did you two really meet?"

"Oh," Duncan grinned into his glass, nose wrinkled before taking a sip, "he put an advert in the paper for a valet and I answered it."

..._oh_.

Charlie deflated. He looked miserable.

_Oh. He doesn't trust me after all, and who can blame h—_

"No — Charlie, it's true!" Duncan reached for Charlie's arm, ready to _shake_ the man if need be — and the fact that Charlie didn't withdraw was such a balm, such a bloody relief to the usual nonsense, that Duncan actually did make contact. He clapped a hand on Charlie's upper arm, briefly, once — and he was nodding, grinning as Charlie looked up in utter confusion.

"But then how did you know —"

"We didn't. Not at first."

"And, but, then you … figured it out?"

Duncan nodded, going a bit dreamy-eyed for a second. He blinked, then smiled at Charlie before draining his glass.

"What say you to just one more, Charlie boy?"

"Ugh," Charlie responded, then quickly corrected himself — "Yes, please — I just, … Charlie boy?"

"Hahaaaa." Duncan poured them each one last (rather generous) glass. "Oh Charlie."

Charlie frowned, grumbling something about "respect for your elders," but at Duncan's guffaw he grinned, raising his glass one more time.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie Charlie." Each one was drawn out to a different extent than the others, and he gave the impression of a parent gently admonishing a child. "Cheerful Charlie. Haha."

"Oh, stop it."

"Chaaaarrrrliiieeeee."

He rolled his eyes.

"So you sang and danced?"

He nodded. "And juggled."

"Juggled? Juggling Ch-Jarlie." Duncan laughed.

"Oh good lord." Charlie Carson rolled his eyes. "Dunkie dunk dunk dunkity Dunk. There."

"Drunk Dunkie."

"Aye, that ye are."

Duncan's bloodshot eyes went hugely wide, and this time it was Mr Carson, the epitome of class and decorum, who snorted with laughter.

* * *

"Oh, good lord."

"You two were awfully loud last night," Elsie's voice cut through the fog. "Singing _Dashing away with a smoothing iron_ in the wee hours_. _Honestly!"

"M'sorry, did we wake the children?"

"No, and it's a good job you didn't, because Andra would've had yer hide!"

"Mmmmph."

"Are you alright?"

He raised his head, testing it. After a pause, he replied, "Yes." And he slowly sat up, lines from the pillowcase dark across his cheek.

She looked beautiful. Of course. Again. Why was she so lovely every time he had a hangover?

_Not that she isn't lovely all the time, Charlie._ He grinned.

"What's that cheeky smile about, Mr Carson?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Just admiring you."

"Hush, you," she scolded, but her eyes sparkled as they hadn't in days. _Weeks_, he thought ruefully. "Now come along, we've work to do."

Indeed. It was only a few days before Christmas. And though the holiday wasn't made much of in the rest of the country, their family had its own little celebration with bits of tradition brought in from Yorkshire and the Continent.

* * *

_tbc..._

_it's been cold winter stuff on the hugheses' farm for __months__ in our time! about time the solstice should come._

_ermegerrrrd downton day is coming in like 5 days! wooooooo_


End file.
